HONOR; 


03, 


THE  SLAVE -DEALER'S  DAUGHTER. 


BY 

STEPHEN    G.  BULFINCH. 


"I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much, 
Loved  I  not  honor  more." 

COLONEL  RICHARD  LOVELACE.    1642. 


BOSTON: 
i  n.  :L  i  .A.  in    v.    SIPEN 

134  WASHINGTON  STREET. 
1864. 


#>~,$ 

w 

>    y  ft  -$ 

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Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1863,  by 

STEPHEN    G.    BULFINCH, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


ELECTROTYPES    AT    THE 

Boston    Stereotype    Foundry, 
No.  4  Spring  Lane. 


PREFACE. 


IN  introducing  this  little  story  to  the  public,  the  author 
would  observe  that  while  the  tale,  as  a  whole,  is  fictitious, 
the  sketches  of  southern  scenery,  life,  and  manners,  are  de- 
rived from  a  residence  of  many  years  in  that  section  of  our 
country. 

He  has  wished  to  do  justice  to  the  better  side  of  southern 
character,  while  portraying  some  features  of  that  fatal  system, 
which  has  been  scarce  less  injurious  to  the  master  than  to 
the  slave,  and  has  now  consummated  its  work  of  evil  by  the 
crimes  and  the  horrors  of  the  present  rebellion,  —  to  find 
therein,  let  us  hope,  its  own  destruction.  % 

Some  particulars  in  the  narrative,  which  may  seem  im- 
probable, are  derived  from  fact ;  such  is  the  incident  connected 
with  a  popular  song;  and  such  the  singular  legal  decisions 
referred  to  in  the  charge  of  Judge  Stanley  to  the  jury. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  -PAGE 

I.  «{ A  TRAP  TO  CATCH  A  SUNBEAM."       ....      7 

II.    "WHAT'S  IN  A  NAME?" 15 

III.  AN  ARRIVAL  AND  A  SCENE. 21 

IV.  "  HE  LEFT  HIS  COUNTRY  FOB  HIS  COUNTRY'S  GOOD."    .     30 
V.    COMING  TO  THE  POINT 37 

VI.    THE  SLAVE-DEALER 47 

VII.    TEMPTATION .        .55 

VIII.    TRAVELLING  SOUTH.  66 

IX.    LIFE  IN  XENOPHON 73 

X.  A  STAGE-COACH  AND  ITS  PASSENGERS.          .         .         .83 

XI.  TUSCULUM.              .           .           .           .           .           .           .           .92 

XII.  THE  EVIL  EVERY  WHERE.  .         .         .         •                 .103 

XIII.  THE  GOLD  REGION Ill 

XIV.  HASTY  AND  INCAUTIOUS 118 

XV.    THE  TAVERN  AND  ITS  INMATES 125 

XVI.    A  STRANGE  SCRUPLE. 135 

XVII.    THE  MOB. 149 

XVIII.  COUNTRY  LIVING  AND  RELIGION.          .        .        .        .163 

XIX.  AN  INDIAN  CHIEF  AND  A  STRAY  POET.         .         .         .176 

XX.    INTO  THE  LION'S  MOUTH 191 

XXI.    THE  TRIAL 204 

XXII.    THE  DEFENCE 215 

XXIII.  THE  UNEXPECTED  WITNESS 221 

XXIV.  THE  CONCLUSION.  230 


HONOR 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S    DAUGHTER. 


CHAPTER   I. 


"A   TRAP   TO   CATCH   A   SUNBEAM." 


town  of  Irvine,  forty  or  fifty  years  ago,  wore 
a  different  aspect  from  what  it  does  at  present  : 
for  the  cotton  factory  did  not  then  exist  ;  there 
were  not  half  as  many  houses  ;  and  French  roofs  and 
bay  windows  had  not  made  their  appearance.  The 
ground  now  occupied  by  the  railroad  station,  from  which 
you  look  down  on  the  factory  buildings  around  the 
stream,  and  on  the  village  rising  up  the  hill  beyond,  was 
then  part  of  Captain  Bates's  farm.  But  there  were  the 
hills  around  ;  there  was  Mount  Josey,  with  its  blue 
dome  terminating  the  vista  up  the  valley.  There,  too, 
was  the  stream  ;  and  though  not  as  laborious  as  at 
present,  it  did  something  besides  singing,  for  it  turned 
a  mill.  The  mill-pond  spread  out  where  it  spreads  now, 

(7) 


'8  HONOR',    OR, 

except  that  then  its  border  of  pond  lilies  was  farther 
down.  The  building  of  the  new  dam  has  raised  the 
water,  and  almost  drowned  ont  the  willows  there  to  the 
left  of  the  old  Livingston  house,  that  substantial  square 
mansion,  rather  low-studded,  whose  grounds  are  sepa- 
rated from  the  rest  of  the  village  by  the  road  that  crosses 
the  bridge. 

That  Livingston  house  used  to  be  a  pretty  place ; 
some  might  think,  prettier  than  it  is  now;  for  its 
grounds'have  been  encroached  on  in  other  directions  than 
that  of  the  pond,  though  what  is  left  of  them  has  been 
very  much  improved.  The  elms  in  front,  now  so  large, 
were  handsome  trees  even  then ;  there  was  not  that 
arbor-vitae  hedge,  but  there  were  more  lilacs.  Mr.  Liv- 
ingston was  much  interested  in  his. apples  and  pears, 
which  were  splendid  fruit,  and  still  more  so  in  his 
peach-trees,  which  —  ungrateful  things  !  —  would  yield, 
for  all  his  care,  poor  specimens  compared  with  those 
of  New  Jersey. 

Mrs.  Livingston  was  quite  as  much  interested  in  her 
flower-garden.  Besides  her  fondness  for  flowers,  it  gave 
her  something  to  take  care  of,  and  supplied  thus  in  a 
degree  the  one  want  of  her  life. 

It  was  a  peaceful  house, — sometimes  a  little  too  peace- 
ful. The  Livingstons  would  have  been  better  pleased  if 
the  silence  of  their  home  had  been  broken  by  infant 
voices  ;  but  though  married  for  several  years,  the  blessing 
of  children  had  not  been  granted  to  them ;  and,  except 


THE   SLAVE -DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  9 

when  young  nephews  and  nieces  came  to  visit  them,  the 
stillness  of  the  house  was  more  deep  than  suited  the  kind- 
hearted  pair.  Formed,  both  of  them,  to  find  pleasure 
in  conferring  it,  they  needed  an  object  towards  which 
their  hearts  could  expand  themselves,  —  one  whom  they 
could  care  for,  provide  for,  feel  for,  and  pray  for,  —  in 
whom  they  could  treasure  up  hopes  and  expectations, 
which,  even  if  they  never  should  be  realized,  would  at 
least  have  conferred  a  blessing  in  the  prospect. 

Mr.  Livingston  was  a  lawyer,  who  had  retired  from 
business  with  more  than  enough  for  his  own  wants  ;  and 
nowhere  did  the  minister,  Dr.  Solesby,  find  a  more  ready 
attention  paid  to  his  representations,  where  the  distresses 
of  the  poor  were  the  theme,  and  any  thing  could  be  done 
for  their  relief.  Such  a  case  once  occurred,  which  formed 
a  memorable  epoch  in  the  family  history. 

"  Mrs.  Livingston,"  said  Dr.  Solesby,  "  I  have  called 
to  ask  if  you  could  come  with  me  to  see  that  poor  woman 
at  Bailey's  tavern."  The  preparations  were  soon  made, 
and  the  lady  and  her  clerical  friend  were  on  their  way. 
They  passed  out  of  the  quiet  street  of  dwelling-houses 
and  gardens,  and  entered  that  which  was  the  scene  of 
business  in  the  little  town.  Passing  the  various  stores, 
they  stopped  at  the  piazza  entrance  of  the  hotel.  There 
were  but  few  people  about,  and  those  in  the  bar-room ; 
so,  without  stopping  to  speak  to  any,  Dr.  Solesby  led  the 
way  through  the  entry  and  up  the  stairs  to  an  attic  in  the 
back  part  of  the  house,  where,  through  his  interest  in 


10  HONOR',    OB, 

their  behalf,  the  family  in  question  had  been  allowed  to 
remain. 

The  room  was  uncarpeted,  and  the  two  chairs,  bed,  and 
table,  were  of  the  simplest  kind.  A  woman  was  lying 
on  the  bed ;  and  a  little  girl,  about  five  years  old,  was 
seated  near  her  on  a  stool. 

"  How  kind  of  your  reverence  to  come  so  soon  again ! " 
said  the  woman,  when  he  had  saluted  her  by  the  name 
of  Mrs.  Witham.  "And  of  this  lady,  too,"  she  ad'ded, 
casting  a  glance  around,  and  uttering  a  word  of  excuse 
for  the  appearance  of  her  room. 

"  Never  mind  that/*  said  Mrs.  Livingston.  "I 
am  sorry  to  see  you  so  ill,  —  and  sorry  that  I  did 
not  know  of  it  before.  How  long  have  you  been  in 
Irvine?" 

"  About  five  months,  ma'am,"  said  the  woman.  "  I 
came  here  with  my  husband,  who  was  in  search  of  work 
at  his  trade  ;  but  there  seemed  little  for  him  to  do  here  ; 
and  after  staying  a  month,  he  left  me,  to  try  and  find  a 
place  for  himself,  and  promised  to  let  me  know,  that  I 
might  join  him." 

"  Have  you  not  heard  from  him  since  ?  "  inquired  the 
lady. 

"  No,  ma'am.  He  is  no  great  writer,  and  he  wouldn't 
care  to  write,  unless  he  had  some  good  news  to  tell. 
And  there's  no  knowing  how  far  he's  gone.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  he  had  gone  to  New  O'leens ;  for  he  often 
talked  about  it." 


THE   SLAVE -DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  H 

"  But  how  could  he  find  money  to  take  the  journey, 
when  he  left  you  in  such  a  situation  ?  " 

"  That's  just  it,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Witham.  He 
had  money  enough  when  he  went  away  ;  for  he  had  sold 
the  shop  and  our  furniture  when  we  left  Eastford.  That 
was  the  place  we  settled  in  first,  when  we  came  from 
England ;  but  he  took  a  dislike  to  it,  because  they  didn't 
treat  him  kindly.  They  told  stories  on  him,  and  said 
that  he  was  a  drunken  Englishman,  and  that  he  stole. 
But,  as  I  was  saying,  that's  just  why  I  am  so  poor  off, 
because  John  said  he'd  have  to  take  the  money,  to  go 
round  and  look  out  a  place  where  he  could  work.  He 
left  me  a  dollar,  and  I  meant  to  find  a  little  place  and 
take  in  washing ;  but  I  took  sick,  and  should  have  died 
before  now,  if  the  good  minister  hadn't  looked  up  friends 
for  me." 

"  You  tire  yourself,"  said  Mrs.  Livingston,  kindly ; 
"do  not  talk  any  more  now.  Here,"  said  she  to  the 
little  girl,  "  are  you  mother's  nurse,  little  one?" 

"  I  take  care  of  mammy  a  little,"  said  the  child, 
timidly. 

"  Don't  you  wish  that  father  would  come  back,  so  as 
to  take  care  of  her  better  ? "  said  the  clergyman. 

The  child  cast  down  her  eyes,  and  murmured  a  "yes, 
sir  ; "  the  tone  of  which  seemed  to  belie  its  meaning. 

"  Betsy  don't  like  her  father  as  she  ought  to,"  said 
the  woman.  "  I  suppose  it's  because  he  whips  her 
sometimes  more  than  he  ought  to  do  ;  but  that's  because 


12  HONOR}    OR, 

he's  in  liquor,  you  know,  ma'am  ;  and  he  can't  help  what 
he  does  then.  But  you're  a  naughty  girl,  Betsy,  not  to 
love  your  father,  and  the  lady  won't  like  you,  if  you 
do  so." 

The  child  turned  her  tearful  eyes  up  to  Mrs.  Living- 
ston, and  said,  with  a  mixture  of  feeling  and  sullenness, 
"  I  don't  like  anybody  but  mother." 

"  But  you  won't  have  no  mother  much  longer,"  said 
the  woman,  "  and  then  you  must  mind  what  father  says, 
when  he  comes  back.  O,  I  wish  John  would  come  back, 
if  he  was  ever  so  sharp  with  Betsy  or  with  me.  But 
now  he's  gone  to  New  O'leens,  and  I  shall  never  see  him 
again  ;  and  what  will  become  of  Betsy  ?  " 

"  Trust  your  child  to  Him  who  is  the  Father  of  the 
fatherless,"  said  the  minister. 

The  woman  looked  at  him  uncertainly  for  a  minute, 
and  then  said,  "  I  know  what  you  mean,  sir,  but  I  ain't 
good  enough  to  trust  like  that.  As  bad  as  John  is  some- 
times to  me,  he'd  see  that  his  child  shouldn't  starve.  O, 
I  wish  John  was  back ! " 

"  My  friend,"  said  Mrs.  Livingston,  who  found  a  pur- 
pose which  her  husband  and  herself  had  indefinitely 
cherished,  brought  to  active  life  by  the  sweet  looks  and 
unprotected  condition  of  the  child,  "  you  have  cause  to 
trust  in  God,  for  he  has  already  provided  friends  for 
you  and  yours.  If  this  sickness  of  yours  should  be  to 
death,  I  will  take  care  of  your  child." 

The  woman  looked  up  with  a  grateful  smile ;  but  at 


THE   SLAVE -DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  13 

once  another  expression,  an  eager  and  a  deprecating  one, 
came  upon  her  face ;  and  she  answered,  "  But  what 
would  John  do,  if  he  came  home,  and  found  Betsy  given 
away  ?  He  must  have  her,  ma'am,  whether  or  no,  if  he 
comes  back  and  wants  her ;  and  I'm  sure  he  will  want 
her  if  he  lives  to  come  back." 

"  But  how  can  you  speak  for  him,"  said  Mrs.  Living- 
ston, with  more  warmth  than  consideration,  "  when  he 
has  abused  you  and  your  child  through  intemperance, 
and  at  last  abandoned  you  ?  " 

"  O,"  said  the  woman,  "  as  for  drinking,  many's  the 
good  man  that's  not  himself  when  he's  taken  his  drop  of 
comfort ;  and  as  for  his  leaving  me,  why,  of  course  it  is 
to  find  work,  so  that  he  may  take  care  of  us  all.  But 
John's  a  good  husband  when  he's  himself,  ma'am ;  and 
he'll  be  a  good  father  to  Betsy,  when  he  comes  back 
some  day.  And  if  you'll  keep  her  till  then,  ma'am, 
and  see  that  she's  clothed  and  fed,  I'm  sure  God  will 
reward  you ;  but  the  child  must  be  John's,  when  John 
wants  her." 

The  illness  of  Mrs.  Witham,  notwithstanding  the  kind 
care  of  her  new  friend,  increased,  and  terminated  with 
her  death.  The  offer  made  by  Mrs.  Livingston  was 
willingly  confirmed  by  her  husband ;  and  after  the  humble 
funeral  was  over,  Dr.  Solesby  directed  the  carriage  which 
alone  had  followed  the  hearse,  to  be  driven  to  Mr.  Liv- 
ingston's, and,  descending  himself,  handed  from  it  Mrs. 
2 


14  HONOR;    OH, 

Livingston  and  the  little  girl,  who  was  now  clothed  in 
deep  mourning.  As  they  walked  up  the  pathway,  Mr. 
Livingston  advanced  from  the  door,  and,  taking  the  little 
one  in  his  arms,  gave  a  father's  kiss  and  a  father's 
blessing  to  his  adopted  child. 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER  15 


CHAPTER    II. 

"WHAT'S    IN   A   NAME?" 

Livingstons,  in  adopting  little  Betsy 
Witham,  had  been  somewhat  disquieted  by 
the  earnest  reservation  which  the  mother  had 
made  in  favor  of  the  father's  rights,  provided  he  should 
return.  They  thought  best  to  make  inquiries,  however, 
in  the  village  of  Eastford,  from  which  the  Withams  had 
come  ;  and  in  this  Dr.  Solesby  was  able  to  assist  them, 
by  corresponding  with  a  minister  in  that  vicinity,  with 
whom  he  was  acquainted.  From  this  friend  he  learned 
that  the  Withams  were,  as  the  woman  had  intimated, 
English  people  —  that  they  had  lived  in  Eastford 
about  three  years,  little  Betsy  being  about  two  years 
old  at  the  time  of  their  arrival.  The  father,  it  ap- 
peared, was  a  carpenter,  and  an  expert  workman,  when 
he  chose  to  work ;  but  he  was  not  only  addicted  to  dis- 
sipation, but  his  character  lay  under  the  suspicion  of 
darker  offences.  When  sober,  he  was  reserved  and 
sullen ;  when  excited  by  drink,  noisy  and  quarrelsome. 
A  number  of  petty  offences  against  property  had  been 


16  HONOR;    OH, 

committed  while  they  lived  in  Eastford.  Hen-roosts 
and  gardens,  which  had  previously,  in  that  quiet  town, 
been  as  safe  as  the  gold  in  a  bank  vault,  and  possibly 
safer,  were  mysteriously  plundered  ;  and  people  said  that 
the  drunken  carpenter's  family  lived  well,  as  far  as 
poultry  and  fruit  went.  The  man,  too,  in  his  cups,  had 
incautiously  boasted  of  his  exploits,  in  "  the  old  country," 
in  the  poaching  line ;  and,  when  some  surprise  was 
expressed,  had  defended  his  actions  by  a  logic  which 
would  apply  as  well  to  Yankee  farm-yards  as  to  English 
preserves.  Still,  positive  proof  was  wanting,  and  none 
liked  to  be  prominent  in  seeking  it,  because  some  were 
held  in  awe  by  the  strength  and  violent  character  of  the 
man,  and  others  pitied  his  feeble  and  suffering  wife.  At 
last,  however,  a  house  in  a  town  near  Eastford  was 
entered  in  the  night ;  silver  spoons,  a  watch,  and  some 
other  articles,  and  seventy  dollars  in  money,  were  miss- 
ing ;  and  suspicion  fell  on  Witham  too  strongly  for  the 
matter  to  be  kept  in  silence.  He  was  arrested,  but 
denied  the  charge  made  against  him,  and  demanded  that 
his  house  should  be  searched.  This  was  done  in  the 
most  thorough  manner ;  but  none  of  the  stolen  property 
was  found,  nor  did  any  circumstance  come  to  light 
which  could  confirm  the  suspicion  that  had  been  enter- 
tained. The  carpenter  complained  bitterly  of  the  un- 
friendliness of  the  people,  and  declared  his  determination 
to  remove  from  the  neighborhood,  where,  as  he  said,  he 
had  been  persecuted.  It  was  not  long  before  the  real 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  17 

thief  was  discovered,  and  William  freed  from  all  suspi- 
cion of  the  robbery.  He  continued  in  his  purpose,  how- 
ever, saying  sullenly  that  he  would  not  stay  where  he 
had  been  so  treated.  The  sale  of  his  goods  at  auction 
was  well  attended,  and  the  family  left  the  village,  not 
much  to  the.  regret  of  its  inhabitants,  with  the  means 
thus  obtained. 

Such  was  the  account  which  Dr.  Solesby  received  from 
his  friend,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wilson.  To  this  he  could  add, 
of  his  own  knowledge,  that  the  family,  on  arriving  at 
Irvine,  had  taken  a  room  at  the  hotel ;  that  Mrs. 
Witham's  feeble  health  had  lapsed  into  serious  illness, 
which  her  husband  seemed  to  regard  with  much  more 
of  vexation  than  of  sympathy ;  that  at  length  Witham 
had  left  his  wife,  avowedly  to  consult  an  English  physician 
in  the  county  town ;  and  that  from  his  journey  he  had 
never  returned.  The  woman,  when  the  time  appointed 
for  his  return  passed  by,  seemed  less  surprised  than 
afflicted  ;  and  when  it  was  found  that  Witham  had  gone 
without  paying  his  bill,  and  had  left  no  money  for  that 
purpose  with  his  wife,  the  conclusion  was  clear,  that  it 
was  on  his  side  an  intended  flight.  The  tavern-keeper 
was  disposed  to  lay  blame  upon  the  woman  also ;  but 
compassion  and  Dr.  Solesby's  intercession  prevailed  ;  and 
the  poor  woman  was  allowed  to  spend  her  last  days 
in  the  humble  room  where  she  was  found  by  Mrs.  Liv- 
ingston. 

The  account  which  has  just  been  given  was  the  subject 
2* 


18  HONOR;    OR, 

of  long  and  anxious  consultation  between  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Livingston  and  the  worthy  minister.  Where  had  Witham 
gone  ?  Would  he  return  ?  Would  he  desire  to  claim  his 
child?  Could  he  take  it,  without  their  consent,  from 
those  who  had  assumed  the  charge  of  it  when  deserted 
by  him?  Mr.  Livingston  studied  his  law-books,  and 
consulted  his  neighbor  and  professional  brother,  Mr. 
Richards  ;  but  as  neither  of  them  could  foretell  whether 
the  father  would  return  soon  or  late,  able  or  unable  to 
maintain  the  child,  with  a  steady  character,  or  a  worth- 
less vagabond,  little  satisfaction  could  be  obtained. 

One  thing  was  plain  —  the  child  was  to  be  taken  care 
of ;  and  this  duty  and  privilege  of  the  present  time  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Livingston  determined  to  accept,  leaving  to 
the  future  the  decision  of  other  questions.  So,  when 
the  little  Betsy  was  brought  to  their  house,  she  was 
received  on  an  uncertain  footing  in  theory,  but,  as  it 
quickly  appeared,  a  very  definite  one  in  practice.  They 
intended  to  be  very  cautious,  but  the  child's  winning 
ways  got  the  better  of  their  caution.  Their  hearts 
became  warmer  and  warmer  towards  the  little  orphan, 
and  before  a  month  was  out  she  was  the  orphan  Betsy 
no  longer,  but  Elizabeth,  or,  by  contraction,  Lizzie,  the 
beloved  daughter  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Livingston.  How  the 
change  came  about  may  be  imagined,  in  its  other  stages, 
from  what  passed  in  regard  to  the  names  by  which  the 
little  charge  should  salute  her  new  guardians.  - 

"  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Livingston,  after  some  conversa- 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  19 

tion  on  this  point,  "  that  I  must  give  up  to  you.  '  Mr. 
Livingston'  and  'Mrs.  Livingston'  would  be  rather 
formal,  I  admit.  Pity  the  name  is  such  a  long  one  ! " 

"  But '  aunt '  and  '  uncle/  "  said  his  wife. 

"  Yes,  '  aunt '  and  '  uncle '  will  do.  That  is  affection- 
ate ;  and  though  I  don't  like  confounding  the  relations  of 
life,  yet  this  is  an  excepted  case.  'Aunt'  and  'uncle' 
let  it  be." 

With  this  decision  they  met  little  Lizzie  in  the  break- 
fast room,  where  she  had  gone  before  them.  The  child 
left  the  kitten,  with  which  she  had  been  playing,  and 
nestling  to  her  protector's  breast,  began  to  give  an 
account  of  pussy's  tricks. 

"  And,  mother,"  said  she,  "  kitty  was  trying  to  catch 
hold  of  the  table-cloth,  and  Bridget  drove  her  away,  for 
fear  she  would  pull  the  teapot  over.  Do  you  think, 
mother,  kitty  could  pull  over  that  big  teapot?" 

Mrs.  Livingston  knew  that  she  ought  to  tell  her  to 
call  her  '  aunt ' ;  but  the  words  would  not  come.  That 
name  'mother'  was  so  sweet  to  her  ears,  that  she 
could  not  check  the  child  for  using  it.  Mr.  Livingston 
saw  his  wife's  weakness,  and  determined  to  show  his 
strength. 

"  Come  here,  Lizzie,"  said  he  ;  "I  have  something  to 
say  to  you." 

"  Let  me  go,  mother ;  I  must  go  to  father,"  said  the 
little  one  ;  and  she  ran  laughing  to  him,  and  seated  her- 
self upon  his  knee. 


20  HONOR  i    OR, 

"  You  call  me  '  father/  dear,"  began  Mr.  Livingston, 
not  quite  as  strong  as  he  had  intended  to  be. 

"  O,  yes  ;  I've  got  a  nice,  dear  father,"  said  the  child. 
"  All  little  girls  have  fathers  and  mothers,  that  they  live 
with." 

"  But  Mrs.  Witham.  was  your  real  mother,  my  dear," 
said  the  cautious  protector. 

"Yes,"  said  Lizzie,  with  a  shade  of  sadness  for  an 
instant ;  and  then  added,  "  When  I  staid  over  there,  she 
was  my  mother  ;  and  now  you  are  my  mother,  and  you 
are  my  father.  All  little  girls  have  fathers  and  mothers." 

"What  can  she  know  about  it,  husband?"  said  his 
wife  ;  "let  her  call  us  so  ;  it  will  do  no  harm." 

"  But,  Lizzie,"  continued  he,  not  so  ready  to  relinquish 
his  point,  "  if  your  real  father,  Mr.  Witham,  comes 
back,  you  know  you  must " 

"  O,  I  don't  want  to  go  back !  I  don't  want  to  go 
back  !  "  cried  the  little  girl,  in  an  agony  of  fear  ;  "  for 
father  scolds  and  whips  me  so  ;  and  now  he'll  do  it  worse 
than  ever,  because  mother  isn't  there  to  say  'Please 
don't/  O,  I  want  to  stay  with  you,  and  have  you  for 
father  and  mother." 

"  Call  us  4  uncle '  and  c  aunt/  "  said  Mr.  Livingston. 

"  Father  and  mother,"  said  the  child,  pleadingly  ;  "all 
little  girls  have  fathers  and  mothers." 

And  so  the  question  was  practically  settled. 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  21 


CHAPTER    III. 

AN    ARRIVAL,    AND    A    SCENE. 

Betsy  "Witham  was  changed  into  Lizzie 
/|  Livingston.  The  surname  indeed  was  scarcely 
\ij/  thought  of,  till  Miss  Brown's  bill  was  presented, 
"  for  one  quarter's  tuition  of  Miss  Livingston  ;  "  whereon, 
after  some  conversation,  it  was  decided,  that  though  it 
was  a  mistake  on  the  part  of  Miss  Brown,  it  would  not 
he  worth  while  to  say  any  thing  to  her  about  it.  So 
successive  bills  were  paid,  in  which  the  same  error 
regularly  occurred ;  all  the  school  associates  of  Lizzie 
fell  into  the  same  misapprehension.  Lizzie  herself  re- 
garded Livingston  as  her  name,  and  even  her  protectors 
forgot  that  there  was  any  mistake  in  the  matter.  So 
passed  three  years,  during  which  the  little  girl  met  and 
overcame  the  difficulties  of  learning,  from  the  a,  b,  c,  to 
the  multiplication  table,  and  proved  herself  a  bright, 
intelligent,  and  affectionate  child. 

One  day,  when  Lizzie  was  engaged  in  her  studies  at 
school,  a  man  presented  himself  at  the  door,  and  inquired 
for  Betsy  Witham.  The  name  was  a  strange  one  to  the 


22  HONOR',    OR, 

scholar  who  had  answered  his  knock,  and  with  some 
impatience  he  asked  to  see  the  teacher.  Miss  Brown 
accordingly  left  the  class  which  she  was  hearing,  and 
with  dignified  step  advanced  to  the  door.  The  man  who 
stood  there  was  not  in  appearance  such  as  she  was  used 
to  converse  with ;  for  hers  was  a  private  school,  patron- 
ized by  the  wealthier  people  of  the  village,  by  some 
from  aristocratic  feeling,  by  others  from  parental  tender- 
ness or  caution,  in  view  of  the  hardships  and  exposures 
which  they  dreaded  for  their  children  in  the  public 
schools.  The  visitor  was  rather  showily  than  well 
dressed,  with  hat  jantily  disposed  on  one  side,  and  that 
arrangement  of  stock,  vest,  and  watch-chain,  which 
marks  the  effort  at  gentility  that  defeats  itself.  The 
man's  face  might  have  been  handsome,  but  that  it 
bore  the  marks  of  intemperate  habits  and  unregulated 
passion. 

"Is  there  a  little  girl  here  of  the  name  of  Betsy 
Witham  ?  "  said  the  man  to  Miss  Brown. 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  the  lady ;  "I  have  no  scholar  of 
that  name." 

"  I  think  you  have,  ma'am,"  said  the  man,  bluntly. 
"  I  was  told  she  came  to  school  here,  and  had  for  some 
years.  My  name  is  Witham ;  I  am  her  father,  and  I 
insist  upon  seeing  her." 

Miss  Brown's  answer  had  been  given  in  forgetfulness 
of  the  story  of  her  pupil,  Lizzie  Livingston,  and  the 
former  name  of  the  little  girl  had  never  been  impressed 


THE  SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  23 

on  her  memory.  But  now  that  story  recurred  to  her 
mind. 

"  I  am  not  sure,  sir,"  she  replied,  "  that  I  was  right  in 
my  first  answer.  There  is  a  little  girl  here  who  goes  by 
a  different  name,  but  who  may  be  your  daughter.  Was 
she  not  adopted  by  Mr.  Livingston  ?  " 

"  Goes  by  a  different  name ! "  said  the  man.  "  I 
wonder  what  right  any  one  has  to  give  another  name  to 
my  child.  That's  the  one,  ma'am,  and  I  want  to  see 
her,  about  the  quickest ;  and  I'd  like  to  see  any  body  that 
would  take  upon  him  to  keep  father  and  child  apart." 

The  voice  of  the  father  was  loud  enough  to  be  heard 
through  the  thin  partition  which  separated  the  entry  from 
the  school-room.  Lizzie  heard  it  without  a  thought  that 
she  was  concerned  in  the  discussion  which  appeared  to 
be  so  angrily  carried  on  by  one  of  the  parties.  But  she 
raised  her  eyes,  as  others  did,  when  the  teacher  ree'n- 
tered,  received  with  some  surprise  her  signal  to  come 
forward,  and  was  ushered  into  the  entry  with  no  idea 
why  she  was  sent  for. 

"This  is  the  little  girl,  sir,"  said  Miss  Brown. 
Witham  gazed  upon  her  with  surprise  and  pleasure. 

"  I  should  not  have  known  you,  little  one,"  said  he  ; 
"  and  of  course  you  don't  know  me.  I  am  your  father, 
dear,  and  I've  come  home,  pretty  well  off  in  the  world, 
to  take  you  to  live  with  me.  So,  put  on  your  bonnet, 
and  show  me  the  place  where  you  live ;  for  I  must  go 
and  see  the  folks  there,  and  thank  them  for  taking  care 


24  HONOR;    OX, 

of  you.  I  don't  mean  to  steal  you  away.  I've  no  need 
to,  for  you're  my  daughter,  and  nobody  has  a  right  to 
keep  you  from  me." 

Lizzie  stood  in  bewildered  astonishment.  She  had 
long  ceased  to  think  of  any  earthly  father  but  Mr.  Liv- 
ingston ;  and  the  remembrances  of  early  childhood,  as 
they  came  to  her  again,  were  not  such  as  to  make  her 
overjoyed  at  the  sight  of  her  real  parent.  The  teacher, 
however,  thought  it  her  duty  to  interfere. 

"  Mr.  Witham,"  said  she,  "  I  think  it  would  be  better 
for  you  to  call  on  Mr.  Livingston  without  the  little  girl.- 
I  have  nothing  to  say  against  your  claim  to  her  as  her 
father,  but  that  is  not  for  me  to  settle.  It  was  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Livingston  who  left  her  in  my  charge,  and  I  am 
answerable  to  them." 

"  You  think,  ma'am,  I'll  steal  her  away?  Why,  don't 
you  see  I  have  no  occasion.  I'm  the  child's  own  father, 
and  Mr.  Lewiston,  or  whatever  his  name  is,  can't  come 
between  me  and  her.  Come,  Betsy,  put  on  your  things, 
and  let's  go  and  see  these  friends  of  yours." 

The  child,  bewildered  as  she  was,  and  not  much 
pleased  with  the  paternal  claim,  caught  with  some  hope 
at  the  idea  suggested  by  his  use  of  a  name  which  had 
now  become  strange  to  her. 

"  My  name  isn't  Betsy,"  said  she  ;  "  it  is  Lizzie  Living- 
ston." 

"  Livingston,"  said  the  man  with  an  oath.  "  Don't 
say  that  to  me  again,  unless  you  want  me  to  knock  you 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER,  25 

down.  If  you've  forgotten  your  own  name  and  your 
father's  looks,  I  guess  you  have  not  forgotten  the  feeling 
of  his  right  hand.  Come  along  this  minute,  you  silly 
slut,"  as  the  frightened  child  began  to  cry. 

"  Mr.  Witham,"  said  the  lady,  with  firmness,  "  I  can- 
not allow  you  to  take  the  child  at  present.  I  have  only 
your  own  word  for  it  that  you  are  her  father,  and,  as  I 
said  before,  I  am  accountable  to  Mr.  Livingston." 

This  name  brought  forth  another  profane  exclamation. 
"  Come  along,"  said  the  father,  fiercely  ;  and  as  the  girl 
hung  back,  and  pressed  to  her  teacher,  he  seized  her,  and 
shaking  her  violently,  gave  her  a  blow  upon  the  face. 

All  was  now  confusion.  The  children,  who  had  before 
listened  in  mute  curiosity  and  fear  to  Witham' s  loud  and 
angry  voice,  now  excited  by  Lizzie's  cries,  rushed  into 
the  entry ;  and  while  some  of  the  older  ones  gathered 
round  and  tried  to  soothe  her,  the  younger  ones  fled, 
bonnetless,  towards  their  homes.  Lizzie  was  crying  as 
if  her  heart  would  break.  The  teacher,  who  had  stood  a 
moment  in  silent  indignation,  now  seeing  her  suffering 
pupil  in  friendly  hands,  turned,  with  no  little  severity  in 
her  manner,  to  Witham. 

"  You  see,  sir,  what  your  violence  has  done.  You 
take  but  a  poor  way  to  make  your  child  love  you,  or  to 
induce  her  present  protectors  to  relinquish  her.  For 
one,  I  assure  you  that  not  only  you  shall  not  take  her 
from  my  school,  but  that  I  will  not  suffer  her  to  go  home, 
except  under  sufficient  guard." 


26  HONOR',    OR, 

"  We'll  see  about  that,"  said  the  man,  who,  though 
shamed  at  first  by  the  excitement  caused  through  his 
violence,  was  roused  again  by  Miss  Brown's  tone  of 
defiance.  He  pushed  aside  one  of  the  girls,  who  was 
trying  to  comfort  Lizzie,  and  seizing  the  child  in  his 
arms,  began  to  carry  her  from  the  school-house. 

Nearly  opposite  was  the  office  of  lawyer  Richards  —  a 
neat  one-story  building,  within  the  same  enclosure  with 
the  lawyer's  mansion,  and  overshadowed  by  the  same 
elms.  The  squire  was  at  this  time  absent ;  and  perhaps 
it  was  in  consequence  of  this  that  his  nephew,  Fred 
Bryant,  who  sat  at  a  green-covered  table  near  one  of 
the  front  windows,  had  suffered  his  eyes  to  wander  from 
his  Greek  Grammar  sufficiently  to  notice  the  visit  of  the 
stranger  at  Miss  Brown's.  After  the  man  had  entered, 
Fred  returned  to  the  adjective  that  was  before  him  ;  but 
having  partly  committed  it  to  memory,  he  thought  it  as 
well  not  to  look  at  the  book,  but  repeated  its  declension 
over  to  himself,  while  steadily  gazing  out  of  the  window. 
At  Lizzie's  cry  the  boy  dropped  his  adjective,  and  rose 
from  his  seat ;  and  when  Witham  came  out,  bearing  the 
child,  and  followed  by  the  whole  terrified  school,  Fred 
rushed  from  the  office,  and  was  across  the  street  in  a 
moment. 

"What  are  you  doing,  you  scoundrel?"  he  cried. 
"Put  that  child  down!  Help,  help!  Mr.  Williams! 
Mr.  Johnson ! "  he  cried,  as  some  of  the  storekeepers 
appeared  at  their  doors.  "  Here's  a  man  carrying  off  a 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  27 

little  girl,  and  she's  crying !  Why,  it's  Lizzie  Living- 
ston," he  added,  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  child's  face. 
This  discovery  kindled  his  blood  still  more,  and  with 
another  command  to  put  the  child  down,  the  boy  of  four- 
teen grappled  with  the  powerful  and  reckless  man. 

Witham,  though  encumbered  with  the  child,  shook  off 
and  threw  down  his  young  assailant ;  but  Johnson, 
Williams,  and  others,  came  running  up. 

"What  is  this  about?"  "What  are  you  doing  with 
that  child?"  "For  shame,  for  shame  !"  exclaimed  one 
and  another. 

"  Don't  touch  him,  my  lad,"  said  Mr.  Johnson,  the 
storekeeper,  as  the  boy  rose,  and  seemed  about  to  recom- 
mence the  unequal  contest.  "  We'll  see  justice  done. 
You're  a  brave  boy,  but  you're  no  match  for  a  man." 

"  What  is  all  this?"  said  Dr.  Solesby,  whose  house 
was  near,  and  who,  though  a  man  of  peace,  was  yet  not 
the  man  to  hold  back  when  the  innocent  and  feeble  were 
to  be  protected. 

Others  came  round,  some  from  their  houses,  —  to 
which  their  frightened  children  had  carried  the  tidings, 
—  some  from  passing  in  the  street ;  and  there  were  loud 
and  indignant  voices  at  the  outrage  which  had  been  com- 
mitted. 

The  voices  subsided  suddenly,  however,  when  Witham 
declared  himself  the  father  of  the  child.  The  man  saw 
his  advantage,  and  pressed  it,  conquering  his  passion,  by 
a  strong  effort,  sufficiently  for  his  present  purpose. 


28  HONOR;    OJl, 

u  I  am  the  child's  own  father,"  he  said,  "  and  she  is 
the  only  one  I  have.  I'm  a  poor  man ;  and  while  I've 
been  gone,  my  wife  died,  and  Squire  Somebody  has  took 
my  child,  and  dizened  her  out,  and  made  her  forget  her 
own  name.  But  all  that  don't  prevent  her  from  being 
my  child  still.  If  I've  got  angry  and  struck  her,  I've 
had  some  reason  ;  and  a  father  has  a  right  to  correct  his 
children.  You've  none  of  you  any  right  to  stop  me,  and 
stop  me  you  shall  not.  Make  way  there,  and  let's  see 
if  Yankees  will  see  child  and  father  separated."  Lizzie, 
having  ceased  her  screams  and  abandoned  resistance, 
lay  motionless  in  his  arms. 

"  He  has  the  best  right,  of  course,  to  his  own  child," 
said  Johnson. 

"  It  may  be  a  question  for  the  lawyers,"  said  Williams, 
the  shoemaker,  "  but  I  won't  interfere  to  take  a  girl  from 
her  own  father." 

"  But  when  her  own  father  goes  off  and  leaves  her  to 
perish,"  said  young  Brooks,  the  carpenter,  "it  is  hard  if 
he  can  come  back  and  take  her  all  the  same  as  if  he  had 
been  the  best  of  parents — take  her  away,  too,  from  those 
who  had  provided  for  her  when  he  had  deserted  her." 

"  But  I  guess  Squire  Richards  would  tell  you,  Brooks," 
said  Johnson,  -"  that  a  father's  a  father,  any  how." 

Dr.  Solesby  now  interposed.  "  Mr.  Witham,"  said 
he,  "  I  was  with  your  wife  at  the  time  she  died,  and  it 
certainly  was  her  wish  that  you  should  have  your  child. 
I  am  sure  my  friend  Mr.  Livingston  will  do  what  is 


*•-•  THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  29 

right  in  the  matter.  There  is  no  need  of  taking  her 
away  in  this  forcible  manner.  And  it  is  rather  hard, 
when  he  and  his  wife  have  treated  her  so  kindly  for  years, 
after  you  had  desert  —  I  mean,  when  you  were  not  here  to 
take  care  of  her  yourself — that  she  should  be  snatched 
from  them  as  if  they  had  stolen  her.  Look,"  he  added  ; 
"  the  poor  child  is  half  dead  with  fright.  Bring  her  into 
my  house,  close  by  here,  and  let  her  have  a  little  time  to 
recover.  Depend  upon  it,  no  harm  shall  be  done  to  your 
rights  in  the  matter." 

The  father  looked  at  his  little  girl,  and  found  that  she 
had  indeed  fainted.  He  was  not  altogether  sorry  for  this 
excuse  to  accept  the  temporary  compromise  offered  him 
by  the  minister  ;  for  it  had  by  this  time  occurred  to  him 
that  the  charge  of  a  child,  who  for  the  present  must  be  in 
some  sort  a  prisoner,  would  be  no  slight  care.  To  the 
minister's  house,  therefore,  he  bore  his  insensible  bur- 
den, and  left  her  in  the  charge  of  Mrs.  Solesby,  after 
receiving  her  husband's  solemn  assurance  that  Lizzie 
should  not  leave  the  house  until  the  following  day. 
3* 


30  HONOR',   OR, 


CHAPTER    IV. 

"HE   LEFT  HIS   COUNTRY  FOR  HIS   COUNTRY'S   GOOD." 

OHN  WITHAM  was  the  son  of  an  English  farm- 
er, the  tenant  of  a  small  farm  on  the  estate  of 
Lord  Cloudesley.  In  spite  of  an  early  reputa- 
tion for  wild  daring,  or  perhaps  even  assisted  by  that 
reputation,  the  handsome  youth  found  favor  in  the  eyes 
of  Betsy  Jennings,  the  daughter  of  a  neighboring  tenant. 
They  married  young  ;  and  the  child  who  bore  her  mother's 
name  was  the  youngest  of  three,  the  two  elder  having 
died  in  those  scenes  of  fatigue  and  privation  to  which 
their  father's  vices  had  exposed  them.  For  strong  drink, 
which  was  used  by  all  around  him,  was  to  Witham  not 
merely  a  temptation  to  excess  in  its  own  use,  —  it  excited 
his  imagination  and  kindled  his  passions.  As  he  came 
more  and  more  under  its  power,  and  within  the  circle  of 
companions  to  which  it  conducted  him,  his  days  were  less 
given  to  his  business  as  a  carpenter,  and  his  nights  more 
to  poaching  in  the  preserves  of  Cloudesley  Manor.  His 
offences  of  this  description  were  for  some  time  suspected  ; 
and,  had  not  the  steward,  a  cousin  of  Witham's  wife, 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  31 

been  willingly  blind  for  her  sake,  the  suspicions  might 
have  been  readily  confirmed.  At  last,  however,  the 
young  man's  reputation  became  so  bad,  and  his  acts  so 
impossible  to  be  overlooked,  that  a  sudden  emigration  to 
America  was  the  only  alternative  to  a  prison.  The 
carpenter's  cottage  was  found  closed  one  morning,  long 
after  the  wife  was  usually  astir,  and  the  officers  of  justice, 
who  had  been  employed  by  the  steward,  arrived  only  to 
learn  from  an  idle  boy  that  Witham  and  his  family  had 
been  seen,  the  evening  before,  going  towards  the  "  Cloudes- 
ley  Arms,"  at  a  time  which  indicated  that  they  would 
take  the  night  coach  for  Liverpool.  The  steward,  who 
had  accompanied  the  officers,  seemed  greatly  disappointed 
and  indignant.  He  urged  an  immediate  pursuit,  and 
only  with  apparent  reluctance  suffered  himself  to  be  per- 
suaded that  it  would  be  more  than  the  arrest  of  a  poacher 
was  worth,  to  track  him  through  the  wilderness  of  a 
great  city ;  and  that  if  the  country  was  rid  of  him,  it 
was  as  well  that  he  should  leave  it  at  his  own  expense, 
as  to  be  sent  to  a  penal  colony  at  the  public  cost.  None 
knew  better  than  the  steward,  however,  where  the  money 
came  from  for  this  sudden  flight;  for  he  had  himself 
advanced  it  from  funds  of  Lord  Cloudesley  in  his  hands, 
on  a  pledge  of  repayment  from  his  uncle,  the  father  of 
Mrs.  Witham. 

The  absconding  carpenter  found  his  way  to  the  New 
World  ;  but  he  brought  his  Old-World  habits  with  him. 
His  course  from  the  time  of  his  landing  till  he  abandoned 


32  HONOR;    OR, 

his  wife  to  the  compassion  of  the  good  people  of  Irvine, 
has  been  already  briefly  indicated.  The  fact  was,  the 
fancy  of  the  wild  and  unprincipled  man  had  been  fired  by 
the  accounts  he  heard  from  persons  recently  returned 
from  the  South  and  South -West.  In  a  new  country,  not 
yet  subjected  to  the  control  of  law,  he  felt  certain  of  that 
success  which  he  was  determined  to  gain  either  by  the 
exercise  of  his  trade,  or,  if  that  failed,  by  shorter  and 
darker  paths.  In  the  years  he  spent  there,  he  narrowly 
escaped,  in  several  instances,  being  shot  in  private  quar- 
rel, or  hung  by  Lynch  law ;  he  had  tried  a  variety  of 
callings,  nearly  corresponding  to  the  nursery  summary, 
"carpenter,  sailor,  soldier,  gentleman,  butcher,  thief;" 
and  returned,  at  last,  with  means  enough  to  establish  him 
in  business  in  an  older  section  of  the  country,  and  deter- 
mined to  reclaim  the  wife  and  child  whom  he  had 
deserted. 

He  was  somewhat  shocked  to  find  that  the  wife  who 
so  patiently  endured  his  evil  ways,  had  sunk  so  soon  be- 
neath the  trials  which  separation  from  him  she  loved  had 
made  harder  to  bear.  He  had  not  expected  this  ;  but, 
counting  on  the  sympathy  and  aid  which  he  found  were  in 
this  country  so  freely  extended  to  those  in  poverty,  he  had 
supposed  that  she  would  be  taken  care  of,  while  his  own 
course  would  not  be  impeded  by  the  presence  of  a  sick 
wife  and  a  young  child.  Towards  those  who  had  taken 
charge  of  his  daughter,  his  mind  wavered  between  grati- 
tude for  their  kindness  and  jealousy  of  their  influence. 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  33 

He  determined  to  see  her  and  to  reclaim  her.  Yet,  as 
in  returning  he  had  expected  to  find  his  wife  and  child 
together,  he  was  unprepared  with  any  plan  for  the  care 
and  education  of  his  daughter.  As,  after  the  scene  at 
the  school-house,  he  thought  over  this  matter  at  the 
hotel,  his  reflections  took  a  form  more  favorable  than 
before  to  the  continuance  of  the  child  with  her  present 
protectors. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  what  sort  of  people 
these  Livingstons  are.  Proud  enough,  I'll  be  sworn. 
But  they've  dressed  up  Betsy  neat,  and  taken  care  of  her, 
when  she  was  nothing  to  them.  They  shall  not  keep  her 
from  me,  however.  And  yet,  if  I  take  her,  what  can  I  do 
with  her?  Here  I  have  no  place  fixed  on  to  live  in,  and 
I  don't  care  to  settle  down  any  where  quite  yet.  A  little 
girl  like  her  wants  some  woman  to  take  care  of  her — some 
decent  woman,  too  ;  and  who  ?  Poor  Betsy !  Well, 
that's  over  ;  but  I  don't  feel  like  marrying  just  now." 

The  result  of  a  night  spent  in  reflections  like  these, 
was,  that  on  the  following  day  Witham  repaired  to  Dr. 
Solesby's  with  a  disposition  more  conciliatory  than  he 
had  previously  shown.  He  accompanied  the  minister  to 
Mr.  Livingston's,  and  met  that  gentleman  and  his  wife 
with  some  words  in  excuse  of  his  violence  the  day  before, 
thanked  them  for  the  care  they  had  taken  of  his  daughter, 
and  expressed  his  willingness  that  she  should  remain 
with  them  for  the  present.  The  Livingstons  were  anx- 
ious to  obtain  from  him  an  entire  surrender  of  the  child 


34  HONOR;    OR, 

whom  they  now  habitually  regarded  as  their  own.  They 
urged  their  claim  upon  Lizzie,  founded  on  her  abandon- 
ment by  her  father.  This  excited  Witham's  resentment, 
and  the  conference  threatened  to  have  an  angry  ending  ; 
but  Dr.  Solesby  acting  as  peacemaker,  the  matter  was 
settled  at  last  by  a  compromise,  or  rather  an  indefinite 
postponement.  Witham  saw  his  daughter,  and  endeav- 
ored by  caresses  to  remove  the  unpleasant  impression  of 
the  school-house  scene.  The  Livingstons  heard  at  length, 
with  great  satisfaction,  that  their  visitor  intended  to  leave 
the  village  on  the  following  day.  He  gave  little  account 
of  his  plans,  further  than  that  he  should  go  to  New  York, 
and  look  about  him  for  a  while ;  that  by  and  by  he  in- 
tended to  settle  down,  and  that  then  he  should  want 
Betsy  to  come  and  live  with  him. 

The  Livingstons  were  careful  neither  to  commit  them- 
selves by  assenting  to  this,  nor  to  excite  him  by  contra- 
dicting it ;  and  they  saw  him  depart  at  last  with  a  feeling 
of  relief  for  the  present,  but  of  dread  for  the  future. 
They  had  become  strongly  attached  to  their  little  charge, 
and  felt  that  without  her  their  house  would  be  desolate 
indeed.  But  their  anxiety  to  retain  her  was  not  on  their 
own  account  alone.  They  shrunk  from  seeing  her  in  the 
absolute  power  of  one  so  ill  fitted  either  to  guide  or 
govern  her,  as  the  father  whose  parting  from  her  had 
been  in  base  desertion,  and  whose  return  was  in  abuse 
and  violence.  But  at  least  a  respite  was  given.  Unable 
to  penetrate  the  future,  they  withdrew  their  minds  from 


THE   SLAVE -DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  35 

painful,  and,  as  it  seemed  to  them,  useless  anticipation  ; 
and  as  months  again  passed  on  without  intelligence  of 
Witham,  they  ceased  to  speak  of  him ;  and  cherished 
their  adopted  darling,  with  the  increasing  hope  that  she 
would  be  theirs  while  their  life  should  last,  and  render  to 
their  old  age  the  offices  of  filial  affection. 

And  years  passed  on,  and  still  Lizzie  shared  the  home 
of  those  who  loved  her  as  their  own  child.  A  few  visits, 
made  by  her  father  without  previous  notice,  reminded  her 
of  his  existence,  and  awakened  more  of  fear  than  of  love, 
and  more  of  curiosity  than  of  fear.  Her  guardians 
thought  it  right  that  as  soon  as  she  reached  a  suitable 
age,  she  should  have  full  information  of  the  early  circum- 
stances of  her  own  life  ;  and  this  she  received  in  part 
from  Mrs.  Livingston,  and  in  part  from  Dr.  Solesby.  It 
was  with  deep  emotion  that  she  heard  repeated  her 
mother's  earnest  charge  that  she  should  not  be  kept  from 
her  father,  if  he  ever  returned  to  claim  her.  As  other 
years  passed  on,  the  thought  of  that  possible  claim,  and 
of  the  difficulties  and  the  duties  that  might  result  from  it, 
became  blended  with  other  thoughts,  the  effect  in  part 
of  temperament,  and  in  part  of  education.  Naturally 
imaginative,  she  read  eagerly  those  works  of  fiction,  and 
especially  of  poetry,  which  the  judgment  of  her  guardians 
allowed  for  her  perusal ;  and  she  loved  in  leisure  mo- 
ments to  muse  upon  the  incidents  there  described,  and 
to  fancy  how  she  would  have  acted  under  the  circum- 
stances in  which  some  favorite  heroine  was  placed.  This 


36  HOXOR;    OR, 

tendency  might  have  led  to  unhealthy  dreaminess,  had 
not  Mrs.  Livingston  instilled,  with  the  utmost  care,  the 
sentiments  of  religious  and  moral  obligation,  and  accus- 
tomed her,  in  every  time  of  doubt,  to  ask  of  herself  the 
question,  What  is  right  ?  Thus  romance  and  poetry  took 
their  place,  in  the  development  of  her  mind,  in  harmony 
with  the  more  serious  teaching  she  received.  Her 
enthusiastic  character  fixed  its  aspirations  on  the  pure 
and  the  true  ;  on  virtue,  honor,  usefulness,  self-sacrifice. 
Her  favorite  heroines  were  the  Siberian  exile,  who  made 
her  way  across  the  deserts  to  obtain  her  father's  pardon  ; 
the  Scotch  girl,  who  with  similar  exertion  saved  the 
sister  whom  she  would  not  save  by  falsehood ;  and  the 
daughter  of  Wallenstein,  who  taught  her  lover  to  prefer 
honor  and  duty  to  herself  and  her  father's  cause.  Thus, 
too,  for  herself  she  dreamed  at  times  of  a  self-sacrificing 
future  ;  and  especially  when  saddened,  as  she  sometimes 
was,  at  the  thought  that  she  might  be  called  to  leave  her 
pleasant  home  and  her  beloved  guardians,  .she  would 
turn  for  comfort  to  the  imaginations  of  duties  opening 
else  where.  She  would  fancy  a  distant  but  not  unpleasant 
home,  to  which  she  might  add  what  would  otherwise  be 
wanting  of  attractiveness,  and  where  her  patience  might 
calm  her  father's  passionate  feelings,  her  persuasions 
check  his  tendency  to  any  wrong  self-indulgence,  and  her 
love  soothe  his  declining  days.  Meantime  she  busied 
herself  in  constant  gentle  efforts  for  those  around  her,  in 
the  happy  home  of  the  present. 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  37 


CHAPTER  V. 

COMING  TO  THE  POINT. 

boy  Frederick  Bryant  meantime  was  ripen- 
ing  into  a  young  man.  With  the  lively  fancies 
suited  to  his  age, (mingled  thoughts  of  improve- 
mentr  honor,  usefulness, \and  a  gentle  presence  seemed  to 
float  through  all  his  visions,  the  gay  and  the  grave  alike. 
Often,  often  in  the  autumn,  after  their  acquaintance  be- 
gan, had  he  watched  from  his  uncle's  office  door  till  Liz- 
zie appeared,  and  followed  her  with  his  eyes  along  the 
street  under  the  trees,  until  she  turned  in  at  the  door  of 
the  school-house.  At  such  times  he  would  fancy  what 
deeds  he  would  perform,  if  that  rude  man  should  appear 
and  offer  any  injury  to  the  little  girl ;  then,  when  he  had 
lost  sight  of  her,  he  would  turn  to  his  baize-covered  table 
in  the  corner  of  the  office,  and  try  his  pen  in  writing,  in 
different  hands,  the  name  of  Lizzie  Livingston,  until  Mr. 
Richards's  entrance  suggested  the  expediency  of  a  return 
to  his  Virgil. 

Since  those  days  he  had  passed  through  his  college 
course  with  honor,  and  had  now  commenced  the  study 
4 


38  HONOR;    OR, 

of  law,  in  the  office  of  an  eminent  counsellor  in  Boston. 
He  was,  therefore,  only  an  occasional  visitant  at  Irvine  ; 
and  when  he  returned  there,  as  the  time  drew  nigh  for 
his  admission  to  the  bar,  he  looked  with  deeper  interest 
than  ever  on  the  child  of  former  years,  and  observed 
with  delight  the  change  that  had  taken  place  in  her, 
more  marked  than  any  between  his  previous  visits. 
Nor  was  she  less  pleased  with  her  boy-protector,  in  his 
transformation  into  a  tall  and  gentlemanly  young  lawyer. 
The  intercourse  between  them  was  at  first  a  little  con- 
strained, neither  being  quite  sure  of  their  mutual  position. 
But  very  quickly  the  old  familiarity  returned,  and,  if 
they  did  not  play  together  as  noisily  as  in  former  days, 
there  was  not  less  enjoyment  in  their  renewed  acquaint- 
ance. Music  was  a  favorite  art  with  them  both,  and 
Lizzie's  voice  and  Frederick's  suited  each  other  well ;  or 
his  fine  execution  on  the  flute  afforded  an  admirable  ac- 
companiment to  hers  on  the  piano.  "Without  a  thought 
in  the  mind  of  either,  that  looked  beyond  the  present, 
their  meetings  gave  life  a  different  aspect  to  them  both. 
The  Livingstons,  more  keen-sighted,  were  in  no  doubt  to 
what  the  intimacy  tended,  but  saw  no  reason  to  discour- 
age it ;  for  Frederick  Bryant  stood  high  for  character 
and  promise  ;  and,  if  they  felt  pained  at  the  thought  of 
Lizzie's  leaving  their  home,  even  for  that  of  a  husband,  it 
still  seemed  that  an  early  engagement  would  afford  some 
security  against  the  possible  capricious  interference  of  her 
father. 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  39 

It  was  on  an  afternoon  in  the  latter  part  of  summer, 
that  Frederick  and  Lizzie  had  been  with  a  party  of 
friends  to  a  sail  upon  the  pond,  —  still  known  by  its  In- 
dian name  of  Sunkesuck,  —  about  a  mile  west  of  Irvine 
village.  They  now  strolled  homeward,  in  company  with 
Henry  Waldron,  James  Finch,  and  Mary  Merton.  Mary 
was  a  year  or  two  older  than  Lizzie,  and  very  conscious 
of  the  difference.  Waldron  was  her  devoted,  but  ap- 
parently not  favored  admirer  ;  while  Finch  was  one  of 
those  young  men  who  enjoy  the  society  of  all  ladies,  but 
seem  resolved  to  be  made  captive  by  none.  Mary  had 
been  conversing  with  both  the  gentlemen,  taking  care 
not  to  show  a  preference  to  either,  until,  in  passing  a 
brook  on  stepping-stones,  she  was  obliged,  in  taking  the 
support  of  one,  to  reject  that  of  the  other.  Waldron 
advanced  first,  and,  stepping  on  the  first  of  the  stones, 
oifered  his  hand  to  Mary.  N 

"  O,  I  am  afraid,"  said  she,  drawing  back.  "  Let 
me  rest  a  moment,  for  I  should  slip  if  I  went  on  now. 
Go  on,  Mr.  Waldron  ;  do  not  wait  for  me  :  Mr.  Finch, 
don't  let  me  detain  you.  I'll  stay  for  the  others." 

Waldron,  discouraged,  went  on  ;  Finch  followed  more 
slowly,  when  Bryant  and  Lizzie,  who  had  been  convers- 
ing a  few  steps  in  the  rear,  came  up,  and,  without  noti- 
cing the  purpose  of  Miss  Merton's  delay,  passed  on,  Fred- 
erick supporting  Lizzie  carefully  across  the  brook.  Miss 
Merton  looked  vexed,  and  Finch  laughed  and  returned. 

"  That  is  civility,"  said  she,  "  to  leave  me  here  and  go 


40  HONOR  i    OR, 

on  with  that  school  girl.  How  perfectly  blind  the  man  is  ! 
He  can  see  nothing  but  little  A,  B,  C." 

"  Cupid  is  blind,"  said  Finch.  "  Miss  Merton,  shall  we 
cross  the  brook  ?  "  And  he  assisted  her  across,  meeting 
half  way  poor  Waldron,  who  was  returning  to  offer  again 
his  rejected  aid. 

Waldron  turned  now  disconsolately  away.  But  the 
coquette  had  no  mind  to  discourage  him  too  far.  "  Look 
at  Fred  Bryant  and  that  little  girl,  Mr.  Waldron,"  said 
she.  "  What  do  you  suppose  he  is  talking  about?" 

"  Something  tender,  I  fancy,"  said  Waldron. 

"  Tender  !  Nonsense  !  He's  examining  her  in  geog- 
raphy or  spelling.  Is  not  Fred  a  member  of  the  school 
committee  ?  " 

"  The  poor  things  are  so  engaged,  they'll  lose  their 
way,"  said  Finch.  "  Waldron,  can't  you  go  forward  and 
take  care  of  them?" 

"  I  might  as  well  be  the  one  too  many  there  as  here," 
said  the  indignant  lover  ;  and,  going  forward  at  a  rapid 
walk,  he  passed  the  couple  in  front,  only  saying,  in  a  low 
voice,  as  he  did  so,  "  Don't  court  too  openly,  Fred." 

Frederick  looked  back,  and  stopped  till  the  two  in  the 
rear  came  up,  the  coquette  covering  her  disappointment 
at  Waldron's  withdrawal  by  a  laugh.  She  and  her  re- 
maining escort  turned  at  length  into  a  road  which  con- 
ducted to  her  father's  house.  Bryant,  to  whom  Wal- 
dron's words  had  furnished  the  key  of  his  own  feelings, 
had  suddenly  become  silent. 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  41 

Lizzie  had  not  heard  the  remark,  but  she  knew  Mary 
well  enough  to  understand  Waldron' s  sudden  flight. 

"  There,"  said  she,  "  Mary  Merton  has  been  tormenting 
poor  Waldron  again,  and  he  has  gone  off  in  indignation. 
How  can  she  take  pleasure  in  making  him  unhappy ! " 

"  You  would  not  do  so,  Lizzie,  would  you?" 

"  I  hope  not — but  I  can't  tell.  The  temptation  has 
never  come  to  me,  and  'tis  doubtful  whether  it  will 
when  I  am  grown  up." 

"  But,  if  it  did,  I  am  sure,  Lizzie,  sure,  that  your 
heart  is  too  good  to  trifle  with  the  feelings  of  one  who 
loves  you." 

His  tone  was  very  earnest,  and  Lizzie  felt  an  excite- 
ment she  did  not  understand ;  yet,  true  to  one  of  her 
principles,  to  defend  the  absent,  she  replied,  — 

"  Perhaps  Mr.  Waldron  misunderstood  her.  Indeed, 
his  extreme  devotion  is  so  obvious  that  it  furnishes  a 
provocation,  almost  an  excuse,  for  a  little  coquetry." 

"  '  0,  wad  some  power  the  giftie  gie  us 
To  see  oursels  as  ithers  see  us ! '  " 

replied  Bryant.  He  was  thinking  of  Waldron's  warning 
to  him,  and  coupling  it  with  this  remark  upon  the  giver 
of  the  warning. 

Lizzie   looked   up    surprised.     "  Does    my   sentiment 
shock  you,  Frederick  ?  "  said  she.     "  I  would  be  the  last 
to  defend  real,  intentional  coquetry ;    but  I  hope  poor 
Mary  is  really  not  guilty  of  that." 
4* 


42  HONOR;    OR, 

"  Whether  so  or  not,  I  am  sure,  dear  girl,  you  never 
could  be." 

What  further  passed  during  that  walk  —  which  proved 
longer  than  the  distance  home  required  —  we  do  not 
know ;  but  Lizzie  and  Mrs.  Livingston  had  a  long  talk 
that  night,  and  Mr.  Bryant  came  to  see  Mr.  Livingston 
the  next  day.  The  young  man  declared  in  warm  terms 
his  attachment  to  Lizzie,  spoke  with  modest  confidence 
of  his  own  prospects  in  business,  and  asked  Mr.  Living- 
ston to  permit  their  engagement.  They  were  both  young, 
he  knew,  and  he  would  not  ask  that  their  marriage 
should  at  once  take  place,  but  he  urged  his  wishes  to  be 
received  as  an  approved  suitor. 

Mr.  Livingston  was  surprised,  as  many  a  parent  has 
been,  to  find  that  his  little  girl  had  become  in  the  eyes  of 
others  a  woman.  He  had  approved  the  growing  inti- 
macy, but  had  not  expected  it  to  ripen  quite  so  soon.  At 
first,  he  was  disposed  to  laugh  the  offer  aside,  on  account 
of  the  youth  of  the  parties  ;  but  this  would  not  do.  The 
young  friend  who  sat  before  him,  as  full  of  serious  pur- 
pose as  of  warm  attachment,  was  unquestionably  a  man  ; 
and  if  he  still  thought  of  Lizzie  as  a  child,  he  must  admit 
that  her  childish  years  were  passing  rapidly  away ;  and 
when  they  should  be  over,  who  so  fit  to  make  her  happy 
as  this  same  youth? 

Bryant's  parents,  now  no  more,  Mr.  Livingston  had 
known  and  respected  highly ;  their  son  appeared  to  in- 
herit the  character  of  his  father,  as  well  as  the  resem- 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  43 

blance,  which,  at  that  moment,  seemed  to  his  father's 
friend  stronger  than  ever. 

The  expenses  of  an  education  had  indeed  nearly  ex- 
hausted the  orphan's  slender  patrimony ;  but  with  the 
patronage  of  his  uncle  Richards,  and  his  own  abilities, 
there  seemed  no  danger  but  that  he  could  find  adequate 
support ;  and  to  whom  should  Mr.  Livingston's  own  prop- 
erty descend,  but  to  his  adopted  daughter  ? 

Such  thoughts  passed  through  the  good  man's  mind  as 
he  sat  thoughtful  and  silent,  scarce  hearing  the  earnest 
pleading  of  his  visitor  ;  but  the  last  of  them  recalled  an 
objection  which  appeared  insurmountable. 

"  My  dear  young  friend,"  he  said,  "  I  do  not  know  to 
whom  I  should  give  my  consent  more  readily,  if  Lizzie 
is  willing  to  give  hers  ;  but,  you  remember,  I  am  not  really 
her  father." 

"  But  her  father  leaves  her  entirely  to  you,"  said  the 
young  man.  "  He  has  hardly  ever  come  to  see  her  ;  and, 
from  what  I  remember  of  him,  I  should  suppose  his  visits 
could  not  be  much  desired.  What  right  would  he  have, 
after  neglecting  her  all  her  life,  to  interfere  with  objec- 
tions to  a  marriage  which  you  should  approve?  My 
blood  boils  now,  when  I  think  of  the  brutal  way  he  treated 
her  when  she  was  a  little  child." 

"  Why,  Fred,  you  were  her  champion  so  long  ago  as 
that,"  said  Mr.  Livingston,  with  a  smile.  "  Perhaps  Mr. 
Witham  might  like  it  still  less,  to  find  her  not  only  en- 
gaged, but  engaged  to  the  boy  that  undertook  to  fight  him 
in  her  behalf." 


44  HONOR;    OR, 

"  He  ought  not  to  bear  malice,  for  I  got  the  worst  of 
it,"  said  Frederick.  "  But  really,  dear  sir,  this  man's 
character  is  a  reason  in  itself  for  our  engagement.  Who 
can  protect  her  so  well  as  a  husband  ?  " 

"  But  you  do  not  propose  an  immediate  marriage  ?  " 

"  No,  I  did  not ;  but,  now  I  think  of  it,  under  these 
circumstances,  with  this  man's  claim  hanging  over  her  all 
the  time,  would  it  not  be  better  to  give  me  at  once  the 
legal  title,  that  would  enable  me  to  hold  her  against  all 
the  world?" 

"  Too  fast,  too  fast,  my  earnest  young  lover.  How 
would  it  seem  on  my  part,  when  the  poor  man  came  back, 
and  found  that  I  had  married  off  his  daughter  at  sixteen, 
without  giving  him  notice  ?  Lizzie  would  never  consent 
to  it,  either ;  and  it  would  not  seem  like  you  to  steal  a 
march,  and  avail  yourself  of  the  father's  absence  in  such 
a  way  as  that." 

Frederick  blushed,  and  excused  himself  with  some 
confusion.  "  But,"  said  he,  recovering  himself,  "  if  we 
ought  not  to  be  married,  can  we  not  be  engaged  ?  If  her 
father  returns,  he  can  make  inquiries  about  me.  I  trust," 
he  added,  proudly,  "  he  will  hear  nothing  that  will  give 
him  just  grounds  to  break  off  the  engagement." 

"  No,  my  dear  fellow  ;  an  engagement  ought  not  to  be 
formed  under  such  circumstances.  It  would  be  wrong 
towards  Witham,  and  would  be  laying  up  trouble  for 
yourself  and  Lizzie,  and  all  of  us." 

"  But  then,  sir,  can  we  not  find  this  man,  and  induce 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S    DAUGHTER.  45 

him  to  give  his  consent  ?  Have  you  no  information  where 
he  is,  that  we  could  write  to  him,  or  that  I  could  go  and 
see  him  ?  " 

"  None,  whatever.  He  comes  unexpectedly,  and  leaves 
no  word  where  he  is  going.  Indeed,  I  must  confess,  I 
have  wished  to  have  as  little  to  do  with  him  as  possible. 
I  have  treated  him  decently  when  he  came ;  and  when 
he  left,  I  have  been  glad  of  it,  and  have  let  him  go  with- 
out wishing  to  know  where.  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to 
have  yielded  to  a  feeling  of  aversion ;  but  I  have  had 
some  reason  besides.  If  he  should  commit  some  desper- 
ate action,  and  be  in  danger  from  the  law,  it  would  be 
quite  as  well  that  I  should  not  know  where  he  was  to  be 
found." 

"  It  is  too  bad  that  Lizzie's  fate  should  depend  on  such 
a  man !  But  if  he  can  be  found,  sir,  have  I  your  con- 
sent that  I  should  try  to  obtain  his  ?  And,  until  he  is 
found,  may  I  come  and  see  Lizzie  as  formerly  ?  " 

"  It  cannot  be  quite  as  formerly,  Frederick.  You  and 
Lizzie  cannot  be  much  in  each  other's  society,  after  what 
has  passed,  without  its  going  further  than  I  can  now  in 
honor  permit.  I  cannot  forbid  you  the  house,  both  as  a 
friend  yourself,  and  as  the  son  of  an  old  friend  ;  but  you 
ought  not  to  come  as  Lizzie's  lover,  and  you  would  not 
like  to  come  as  a  stranger." 

"  I  don't  see,  then,  but  that  I  am  in  effect  forbidden," 
said  the  young  man,  rising. 

"  No,  my  dear  boy,  do  not  be  angry.     I  will  do  the 


46  HONOR;    OB, 

best  I  can.  Visit  us  occasionally  ;  I  will  try  all  means  I 
can  think  of  to  discover  Witham ;  and,  if  he  is  found,  I 
trust  all  will  be  well.  At  any  rate,  when  Lizzie  is  of 
age,  her  father's  consent  will  no  longer  be  required  by 
law  or  honor  ;  and  I  do  not  think  we  need  wait  for  any 
other  consideration." 

Young  Bryant  thanked  his  friend,  though  rather  sadly, 
and  returned  slowly  to  his  room  at  his  uncle  Richards's. 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  47 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE    SLAVE-DEALEE. 

INGE    the   conversation  recorded    in   our  last 
chapter,  Mr.   Bryant  had  been  absent  for   a 

time ;  had  been  examined  and  admitted  to  the 
bar  ;  had  returned,  and  placed  his  sign  below  that  of  his 
uncle  on  the  office  in  Irvine.  The  interest  taken  by  the 
Livingston  family  in  these  events  had  removed  whatever 
feeling  of  constraint  had  arisen  between  them  and  their 
young  friend  ;  and  their  intercourse  was  again  on  its  old 
familiar  footing,  when  an  event  took  place  which  the 
young  man  had  earnestly  desired.  This  was  the  return 
of  Mr.  Witham. 

He  came  in  showy  vest,  with  brilliant  watch-guard  and 
unfailing  cigar.  He  came  not  alone.  In  a  bold,  scrawl- 
ing hand,  he  entered  on  the  hotel  register  the  names  of 
"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Witham."  The  latter  person  was  a 
woman  of  feeble  and  timid  aspect,  several  years  younger 
than  her  husband,  and  who  had  evidently  been  married 
long  enough  to  know  the  strength  of  her  husband's  will, 
and  to  submit  to  it  entirely. 


48  HONOR',    OR, 

Witham  called  upon  the  Livingstons  with  his  wife,  and 
made  the  latter  acquainted  with  his  daughter.  Lizzie 
and  her  new  mother  met  each  other  with  looks  of  mutual 
fear.  Witham  observed  it,  and  exclaimed  with  a  laugh, 
"  Why,  I  don't  know  which  seems  the  most  frightened. 
Cheer  up,  Betsy ;  there's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of  in  Susan 
—  your  mother,  I  mean.  She's  only  a  sight  too  easy  — 
hasn't  got  spirit  enough  to  manage  a  kitten.  And,  Susan, 
I'll  warrant  you'll  find  Betsy  a  good  girl."  The  two 
looked  at  each  other,  and  the  detection  by  each  of  a  feel- 
ing like  her  own,  produced  a  mutual  smile,  and  a  mutual 
disposition  to  be  friends. 

Still,  it  was  with  a  sort  of  shudder  that  Lizzie  heard 
from  her  father  that  he  had  come  to  claim  her  at  last. 
He  had  been  successful  in  the  South- West,  —  in  what 
business  he  did  not  say,  —  had  married  there,  and  had 
now  come  back  to  New  England  with  the  purpose  of 
returning  in  the  autumn,  and  establishing  himself  as 
keeper  of  a  hotel.  His  daughter  was  to  go  with  him ; 
he  spoke  of  this  not  as  a  subject  of  consultation,  but  as 
something  decided  upon.  He  thanked  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Livingston  for  their  care  of  her ;  and,  as  he  spoke,  a 
feeling  of  the  real  extent  of  his  obligation  to  them  seemed 
to  come  upon  him,  perhaps  for  the  first  time  ;  for  it  was 
with  much  warmth  that  he  repeated  his  thanks,  and 
declared  that  he  should  never  forget  how  they  had  taken 
charge  of  his  poor  girl  when  there  was  no  one  else  to 
stand  by  her,  and  had  brought  her  up  to  look  like  a  lady. 


THE   SLAVE -DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  49 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Livingston  were  not  a  little  embar- 
rassed. They  could  not  deny  the  general  right  of  a 
father  to  the  services  of  his  child  under  age ;  and 
Witham's  circumstances  in  life,  and  even  his  manners, 
were  so  far  improved,  that  it  was  difficult  to  state  the 
precise  grounds  why  he  should  be  considered-  unfit  to 
take  charge  of  his  own  daughter.  The  man's  appear- 
ance was  not  prepossessing,  and  the  prospect  of  his  home 
at  a  hotel  in  Alabama  was  any  thing  but  agreeable  to  the 
northern  feelings  of  Lizzie's  friends.  They  both  felt 
deeply  the  loss  they  should  sustain,  the  desolation  of  their 
own  house  when  the  child  who  had  so  long  been  its  light 
was  taken  from  it ;  but  even  this  feeling  was  overpowered 
in  that  of  anxiety  for  her. 

Mrs.  Livingston  inquired  as  to  the  size  and  character 
of  the  town  in  which  Witham.  intended  to  reside. 

"  It's  a  fine  place,  ma'am,  for  that  country  ;  its  name's 
Xenophon,  the  county  town  of  Saunders  County.  The 
great  things  they  deals  in  round  there  is  cotton  and 
niggers  ;  so  there's  white  and  black,  the  two  extremes  to 
choose  between." 

"  Have  you  many  negroes  about  you,  Mr.  Witham?" 
said  Mrs.  Livingston. 

"  O,  plenty  —  rather  more  than  plenty  —  so  many 
they're  in  each  other's  way.  Betsy  won't  have  a  thing 
to  do  but  sit  in  the  parlor  and  thrum  the  piano,  except 
she  may  have  to  take  her  mother's  place  sometimes, 
looking  after  those  lazy  blackeys.  About  them,  the 
5 


50  HONOR  i    OR, 

traders  stops  pretty  often  with  a  good  sight  of  'em, 
coming  from  Virginia;  but  they  won't  be  in  Betsy's 
way." 

"  You  *  have  negro  -  traders  stopping  at  the  house, 
father?"  said  Lizzie.  "It  seems  to  me  I  should  be 
afraid  of  the  very  sight  of  such  a  man." 

"  It  wouldn't  be  a  worse  sight  than  you  have  seen, 
Betsy ;  and  I  can  tell  you,  the  money  that  comes  from 
negro-trading  is  mighty  convenient." 

The  inference  which  might  have  been  drawn  as  to 
Witham's  own  history  was  prevented  by  the  entrance  of 
Frederick  Bryant,  who  was  introduced  by  Mr.  Livingston 
to  Lizzie's  father  and  mother.  Witham,  however,  after 
this  interruption,  resumed  his  former  subject  in  a  loud 
tone. 

"  You  don't  think  much  of  nigger-traders  round  here,  I 
reckon  ;  but  I  can  tell  you,  at  the  South  they  are  as  fine 
gentlemen  as  any.  Some  of  the  great  planters  and  some 
squeamish  city  folks  do  turn  up  their  noses  at  us,  —  that 
is,  at  the  traders ;  but  I  don't  know  any  of  them  but 
will  come  and  buy  a  nigger  for  all  that,  when  they  want 
one ;  and  I  don't  know  as  it's  any  worse  to  sell  than  it  is 
to  buy." 

"  So  our  abolitionists  say,  Mr.  "Witham,"  said  Bryant. 
"  They  say  the  system  is  all  one  ;  if  one  part  is  right, 
all  is  right,  and  if  one  part  is  wrong,  all  is  wrong.  If 
the  slave  trade  is  wrong,  it  is  wrong  to  hold  slaves  ;  the 
receiver  is  as  bad  as  the  thief." 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  51 

"  Thief's  rather  a  hard  name  for  a  man  that's  had  his 
slaves  grow  up  on  his  own  plantation.  But  I  know  what 
you  mean,  and  I  think  so  far  the  evolutionists  is  about 
right,  —  that  if  one  part's  bad,  all's  bad,  and  if  one  part's 
good,  all's  good.  Now,  I  say,  it's  right  to  hold  slaves  ;  it's 
right  to  buy  'em,  it's  right  to  sell  'em ;  it's  right  to  bring 
'em  from  Virginia,  and  it's  right  to  bring  'em  from  Africa  ; 
and  I  don't  care  what  any  Yankee  [we  omit  the  oath] 
says  to  the  contrary." 

The  party  looked  at  each  other  a  moment  in  silence. 
Fred,  whose  indignation  was  held  in  check  by  a  strong 
wish  to  conciliate  Lizzie's  father,  tried  to  change  the 
subject  by  mentioning  the  news  of  the  day.  But  the 
effort  was  not  a  successful  one,  for  that  news  suggested  a 
conversation  on  the  political  questions  then  agitating  the 
country ;  and  on  these  the  visitor  again  displayed  offen- 
sively the  arrogant  dogmatism  of  ignorance  and  self- 
interest.  Fred  saw  that  he  had  made  no  progress  ;  and, 
too  honest  to  conceal  his  real  opinions,  he  found  it  his 
best  course  to  withdraw,  leaving  his  intended  suit  to  Mr. 
Witham  to  be  urged  at  a  more  favorable  time. 

The  next  day  Frederick  saw  Witham  in  private,  and 
made  an  offer  of  his  hand  to  Lizzie,  referring  her  father 
to  Mr.  Livingston  and  Mr.  Richards  for  a  further  knowl- 
edge of  his  character  and  prospects.  But  the  negro- 
trader  had  been  so  little  pleased  with  the  young  man  the 
day  before,  that  he  received  the  proposal  very  coldly. 
He  only  answered  at  first  that  Betsy  was  too  young,  and 


52  HONOR;    OR, 

that  he  wanted  her  to  be  with  him  now,  as  he  had  not  had 
her  with  him  for  so  many  years.  Frederick  repressed 
the  impatient  answer  which  sought  utterance,  that  the 
affection  which  had  waited  so  long  might  wait  longer, 
and  besought  the  privilege  of  an  engagement,  or  at  least 
permission  to  correspond.  But  Witham  did  not  choose 
to  have  a  son-in-law  whose  deportment  and  principles 
were  a  reproach  to  his  own.  "  Besides,"  thought  he  to 
himself,  "  there  is  no  need  of  throwing  her  away  upon  a 
Yankee  lawyer.  She's  a  fine-looking  girl,  and  there  are 
smart  young  fellows  enough  in  Xenophon,  or,  if  not  there, 
in  Montgomery,  or,  if  not  tnere,  in  New  Orleans,  that 
will  be  glad  to  make  her  mistress  of  their  land  and 
niggers."  So  the  interview  between  the  suitor  and  the 
father  ended  with  a  blunt  refusal  on  the  part  of  the  latter, 
and  with  high  wrath  indifferently  concealed  on  the  part 
of  the  former. 

Fred,  however,  was  not  to  be  so  baffled.  He  con- 
versed with  Mrs.  Livingston,  and  found  her  in  deep 
distress  at  the  anticipated  loss  of  her  adopted  child  —  a 
loss  embittered  by  the  evidence  which  every  hour's  inter- 
course with  Witham  increased,  —  of  his  want  of  cultiva- 
tion/ his  narrow  and  sordid  mind,  and  his  looseness  of 
principle.  From  her  the  young  lawyer  resorted  to  his 
uncle,  and  inquired  of  him  with  earnestness  whether  the 
law  would  sanction  the  claim  of  Witham  to  resume  his 
child,  against  her  own  will,  and  that  of  the  friends  who 
had  cherished  her  as  their  own,  and  had  borne  the  entire 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  53 

expense  of  her  education.  Mr.  Richards  assented  to  the 
weight  of  the  considerations  thus  named,  but  suggested 
those  which  balanced  them.  Witham  had  never  surren- 
dered his  claim  over  his  child ;  that  claim  had  been 
acknowledged  by  the  Livingstons  not  only  by  implication 
but  expressly  ;  and  whatever  the  decision  might  be,  Mr. 
Richards  pointed  out  to  his  nephew  the  painful  character, 
in  every  respect,  of  an  appeal  to  law  on  such  a  subject ; 
the  agony  of  the  choice  to  which  the  young  lady  would 
be  subjected,  obliged  to  take  a  part  against  either  her 
real  or  her  adopting  father ;  and  the  misery  of  having  her 
name  and  the  names  of  her  friends  spread  before  the 
public,  with  every  detail  that  impertinent  curiosity  could 
collect,  in  the  papers  of  the  day.  There  was  but  one 
claim,  Mr.  Richards  said,  which  superseded  that  of  a 
father  ;  and  that  was  a  husband's. 

"  O  that  I  had  that  claim ! "  said  the  young  man. 
"And  if  Lizzie  would  consent  to  let  me  rescue  her 
from  this  living  death,  this  banishment  to  Alabama, 
this  living  among  slaves  and  slave-drivers,  it  might 
be  done." 

"  How  would  you  manage  about  the  marriage  license  ?  " 
said  his  uncle,  smiling.  "  You  would  not  have  a  run- 
away match,  and  go  to  New  Hampshire  ?  That  would 
not  do  for  you,  a  Sunday  school  teacher  at  Dr.  Solesby's 
church." 

And  so  saying,  the  good  lawyer  went  forth  to  attend 
to  some  business  at  the  Registry  of  Deeds,  little  thinking 
5* 


54  HONOR-,    OR, 

that  he  had  suggested  to  his  nephew  to  commit  a  deed, 
which,  though  palliated  by  circumstances,  would  be  regis- 
tered against  him  by  the  feelings  of  the  community,  and 
by  the  plain  laws  of  natural  and  of  Christian  rectitude. 


THE   SLAVE -DE ALERTS  DAUGHTER.  55 


CHAPTER    VII. 

TEMPTATION. 

CMCV \  ITHAM  and  his  wife  remained  in  Irvine 
il  it  ^or  a  ^me*  Their  accommodations  at  the 
^IVlx^  hotel  were  very  different  from  those  which 
had  been  unwillingly  bestowed  upon  the  dying  mother. 
The  English  carpenter,  now  appearing  as  a  "  gentleman 
from  the  South,"  insisted  on  the  best  apartments  and  the 
best  fare  that  the  house  afforded.  He  was  loud  and 
important  in  the  bar-room ;  and  it  was  with  some  diffi- 
culty that  the  tavern-keeper  contrived  to  conceal  his 
guest's  potations  behind  the  thin  veil  of  decency  which 
increasing  excitement  on  the  subject  of  temperance  ren- 
dered needful.  Witham  rode  out  frequently,  driving  the 
most  spirited  horses  that  could  be  procured.  Sometimes 
his  wife  accompanied  him ;  sometimes  he  called  at  the 
Livingstons',  and  took  his  daughter ;  and  sometimes  he 
had  the  company  of  a  weak  youth  named  Pickett,  who 
boarded  at  the  hotel,  and  in  whose  eyes  the  stranger  was 
a  glorious  object,  from  the  show  he  made,  and  his  taste 
in  brandy  and  in  horses.  Once,  in  a  moment  of  good 


56  HONOR;    OR, 

nature,  he  asked  Fred  to  go  with  him ;  but  the  young 
man,  more  honest  than  prudent,  replied  to  the  showy 
slave-trader  with  so  ill  a  grace,  that  Witham  swore 
deeper  than  ever  that  he  would  never  let  that  proud 
puppy  come  near  Betsy. 

At  length  he  left  the  town,  to  attend,  as  he  said,  to 
some  business  in  New  York  ;  and  Mrs.  Witham  remained 
at  the  hotel  till  his  return.  The  Livingstons,  who  had 
seen  his  course  with  increasing  dislike,  breathed  freer  in 
his  absence  ;  and  Lizzie,  as  she  stood  at  the  private  door 
of  the  hotel,  almost  blamed  herself  for  not  feeling  that 
sinking  of  the  heart  which  she  had  experienced  there, 
when  expecting  to  meet  her  father. 

She  found  her  step-mother  in  a  room,  such  as  hotel  par- 
lors are  apt  to  be,  stiffly  fine,  with  much  of  show,  but  little 
of  comfort.  Two  books  lay  on  the  centre-table,  the  one 
a  quarto  volume  full  of  coarse  portraits  of  eminent  per- 
sons, alternating  with  pages  full  of  advertisements  ;  and 
the  other  a  Bible,  bearing  on  its  substantial  covers  the 
inscription,  "  Presented  to  the  Tenadnuck  House,  Irvine, 
by  the  Washington  County  Bible  Society."  Tenadnuck, 
it  may  be  observed  by  the  way,  was  the  name  which  a 
learned  professor  had  declared  to  be  the  true  Indian 
designation  of  the  neighboring  mountain ;  and  the  en- 
deavor was  strongly  made,  but  as  yet  with  imperfect  suc- 
cess, to  bring  it  into  common  use,  instead  of  the  homely 
appellation  of  Mount  Josey. 

Mrs.  Witham  was  sitting  in  a  rocking-chair,  with  her 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  57 

face  turned  from  the  window,  slowly  rocking,  and  gazing 
at  the  empty  grate.  She  looked  up  with  a  smile  of  pleas- 
ure, yet  with  something  of  embarrassment,  as  her  step- 
daughter entered,  and  said,  — 

"  Well,  Miss  Betsy,  I'm  glad  to  see  you." 

"  I  thought  you  might  be  lonely,  ma'am,  since  Mr. 
Witham — I  mean  since  father — is  gone,"  replied  Lizzie. 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  the  elder  female.  "  I  am  lonesome, 
rather.  But  it  isn't  because  John  is  gone,  for  he  often 
goes  away,  and  leaves  me  a  long  time  together  ;  but  this 
house  seems  so  strange  and  so  grand-like,  I  can't  get 
used  to  it.  I  didn't  mind  it  when  he  was  here  ;  but  now 
I  don't  like  to  go  about  alone,  and  it's  so  queer  calling  on 
these  white  people  to  help  one.  When  I'm  to  home,  I 
don't  mind  calling  on  the  niggers  when  I  want  any  thing ; 

but  these  white  servants .  How  a  white  man  can 

make  a  nigger  of  hisself,  and  be  ordered  about,  I  don't 
see." 

"  I  have  seen  so  few  black  people,  I  should  feel  strange 
in  speaking  to  one." 

"Why,  law,  I  don't  feel  strange  about  that  at  all. 
They  ain't  like  us,  no  way,  —  to  be  spoke  to  as  if  we 
was  on  our  p's  and  q's  with  'em.  They  mind  right  easy  ; 
and  I  tell  you  they've  got  to  mind,  too,  when  John's 
about.  He'll  make  'em  stand  round,  the  roughest 
of  'em." 

"  Does  father  own  many  slaves  ?  "  said  Lizzie,  timidly. 

"  O,  sometimes  many,  and  sometimes  none  at  all,"  said 


58  HONOR;   OR, 

the  wife.  "  It's  just  as  happens  ;  but  commonly  about 
November  the  yard's  pretty  full ;  and  then  in  the  winter 
they  go  off,  except  some  bad  bargains,  that  stay  along  till 
spring." 

The  daughter  looked  at  her  step-mother  with  a  bewil- 
dered expression.  "  The  yard ! "  she  repeated.  "  Do 
they  stay  out  in  the  yard?" 

"  O,  when  I  say  the  yard,  I  mean  the  places  that's 
built  in  it  —  the  jail,  and  the  nigger-houses,  and  all." 

"  Jail !  "  said  Lizzie.  "  Excuse  me,  I  know  it  is  rude 
to  repeat  your  words,  but  I  don't  understand.  What  has 
my  father  to  do  with  a  jail?  " 

"  O,  law  !  "  said  Mrs.  Witham,  laughing.  "  That's 
the  place  where  he  shuts  up  the  new  niggers,  or  any 
that's  just  going  to  be  sold.  Didn't  you  know,  Miss 
Betsy,"  she  added,  "  that  your  father  was  a  slave- 
dealer?" 

"  My  father  a  slave-dealer  !  "  repeated  the  girl  with  a 
voice  of  dismay. 

"  Yes,  he's  a  slave-trader,  and  a  very  good  business  it 
is.  He's  made  money  at  it,  hand  over  hand.  He  went 
into  it  first  with  my  brother,  who  had  been  in  the  busi- 
ness before  ;  and  that's  the  way  I  come  to  know  him." 

"  But  what  a  horrid  business,"  said  Lizzie,  "  to  buy 
and  sell  human  beings !  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  my 
father  engaged  in  such  a  work !  " 

"  Why,  miss,  you  needn't  be  a  looking  down  on  your 
father  for  what  he  does,"  said  his  helpmeet,  with  some 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  59 

anger  in  her  voice.  "  And  it  doesn't  seem  very  polite 
either,  for  all  you're  so  well  eddicated,  to  talk  so  about 
a  trade  that  my  husband  and  my  brother  is  in.  But 
don't  cry,  Betsy.  It  must  seem  strange  to  you,  I  sup- 
pose ;  but  there's  no  harm  in  it.  Old  father  Williamson, 
the  Methodist  preacher,  often  says  God  made  the  race 
of  Ham  to  be  slaves,  and  it's  right  they  should  be.  And 
if  it's  right  to  buy  and  sell  them,  why,  then,  the  men  that 
deal  in  'em  is  just  like  any  other  merchants." 

"  But  does  father  treat  them  kindly?" 

"  O,  yes ;  as  kindly  as  any  body.  They  have  to  be 
whipped  sometimes,  you  know  ;  but  he  takes  care  not  to 
overwork  them,  nor  nothing.  You  see  they  wouldn't 
sell  so  well.  Sometimes  he's  rough  ;  but  then,"  her  voice 
sinking,  and  a  tear  in  her  eye,  "  sometimes  he's  pretty 
rough  with  me." 

"  But  the  separating  of  husband  and  wife " 

"  Why,  dear,  it  isn't  his  fault.  If  a  planter  comes 
and  sells  him  a  likely  gal,  how  is  he  to  know  she's  got  a 
husband?  Most  likely  she  hasn't,  but  only  some  one 
that  lived  with  her.  And  then  he  does  what  he  can  to 
get  her  a  husband  soon.  But  you  ain't  going,  Miss 
Betsy,  be  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Lizzie,  rising.  "  Please  to  excuse  me 
now,  and  forgive  me  for  my  rudeness.  It  was  all  so 
new  to  me  ;  but  I  hope  I  shall  learn  to  bear  it." 

The  unhappy  girl  returned  to  the  pleasant  home,  which 
soon  was  to  be  hers  no  longer.  With  difficulty  had  she 


60  HONOR}    OB, 

schooled  her  mind,  —  not  indeed  to  submit,  for  that  was 
at  once  resolved  on, — but  to  submit  without  an  expression 
of  the  deep  repugnance  that  she  felt  at  going  to  a  distant, 
unknown  section  with  such  a  father  as  hers  appeared  to 
be.  But  then  she  had  supposed  him  a  merchant,  engaged 
in  some  honorable  branch  of  business.  Now  she  had 
learned  that  he  was  a  slave-dealer  —  a  man  who  had  en- 
riched himself  by  trafficking  in  the  flesh  and  blood  of  his 
fellow-creatures  —  a  man  whose  vocation  was  despised 
even  by  those  who  employed  him,  whether  to  relieve  them 
of  troublesome  slaves,  or  to  furnish  their  fields  with  new 
laborers.  Happily,  her  ideas  of  the  revolting  character 
of  the  business  were  indefinite.  The  horrors  before  her 
were  in  great  part  unknown  ;  and,  when  she  had  reached 
her  home,  and  relieved  her  feelings  in  solitary  tears,  she 
sought  and  found  strength  for  duty.  As  she  rose  from 
her  knees,  she  said  aloud,  "  Come  what  may,  I  will  be  a 
faithful  daughter." 

When  Lizzie  appeared  at  the  evening  meal,  the  friends 
who  had  watched  her  for  some  weeks  with  saddened 
hearts  had  no  suspicion  that  the  day  had  been  one  of 
peculiar  mental  trial.  The  dejection  which  they  had 
detected  through  her  studious  effort  to  conceal  it  seemed 
to  have  gone.  Her  manner  was  more  natural ;  and  if 
they  missed  the  careless  gayety  of  the  child,  they  had  in 
its  place  something,  unknown  before,  of  the  dignity  of 
the  woman.  So  completely  had  the  high  thought  that 
occupied  her  triumphed  over  the  sadness  of  her  antici- 
pated destiny. 


THE   SLAVE -DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  61 

They  were  already  seated  at  table,  when  Fred  Bryant 
came  in,  with  the  freedom  of  an  old  acquaintance.  His 
cheek  was  flushed,  and  his  manner  betrayed  the  burden 
on  his  mind.  Sometimes  he  would  sit  silent,  and  not 
seem  to  hear  the  words  addressed  to  him  ;  then,  starting 
from  his  reverie,  he  would  talk  with  a  seemingly  careless 
rattle  that  he  had  never  before  ventured  on,  at  least  in 
that  company. 

Tea  was  over  at  last,  and  the  good  Livingstons,  pitying 
the  young  man,  saw  no  reason  why  they  should  deny  him 
the  private  interview  with  Lizzie  which  he  evidently 
desired.  So  the  husband  took  up  his  evening  paper,  and 
the  wife  withdrew  on  the  plea  of  family  cares.  A  window 
opening  to  the  floor  communicated  with  a  piazza,  and 
Fred,  passing  through,  asked  Lizzie  some  question  about 
the  beautiful  honeysuckle  that  overhung  it.  i  As  she  fol- 
lowed, and  before  she  could  answer,  he  exclaimed,  in  a 
vehement  whisper,  — 

"  Shame  on  the  man  wlio  would  tear  that  lovely  vine 
away  from  where  it  has  grown  for  years,  and  take  it  to 
wither  and  die  around  a  slave-pen  at  the  South  ! " 

"  O  Fred,"  she  answered,  sadly,  "  I  know  what  you 
mean  ;  but  he  is  my  father.  The  vine  belongs  to  him  ; 
and,  perhaps,"  she  added  with  a  reverent  look,  "  God 
means  the  vine  to  yield  some  shelter  to  the  poor  tenants 
of  the  slave-pen." 

"  You  shelter  them  ! "  he  replied.  "  Dear  enthusiast, 
you  will  need  shelter  yourself ;  and  I  can  give  it  to  you. 
6 


62  HONOR  i    OS, 

Will  you  not  take  it  ?  I  cannot  bear  it,  either  for  myself 
or  you,  that  you  should  go  South  with  this  —  this  man, 
if  he  is  your  father." 

"  Alas,  Frederick,  if  it  was  right  for  me  to  wish  to 
stay,  I  have  no  choice.  He  has  every  right,  by  the  laws 
of  God  and  man  ;  and  my  refusal  would  only  make  un- 
happiness  and  discord,  without  accomplishing  its  object. 
I  should  only  go  as  a  prisoner,  instead  of  a  daughter." 

"  Nay,  I  would  keep  you  as  a  prisoner,"  said  he,  with 
a  fond  smile  ;  "  a  prisoner  such  as  I  am  myself,  fettered 
by  love." 

"  Love's  chain  reaches  far,"  said  she.  "  If  we  are 
parted  in  person,  we  may  be  together  in  spirit." 

"  Ah,"  he  replied,  "  that  gives  me  some  comfort.  But 
what  will  come  to  you  when  so  far  off  ?  Your  father 
dislikes  me,  and  I  cannot  pretend  to  like  him  ;  and  to  you 
new  scenes  will  bring  new  attractions." 

"  Frederick ! " 

"  O,  forgive  me.  I  cannot  distrust  you.  But  I  can 
and  must  fear  for  you.  You  do  not  know  the  nature  of 
the  scenes  to  which  you  are  going.  Do  you  know  the 
business  your  father  carries  on  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Fred,  I  found  out  to-day  that  he  not  only  owns 
slaves,  but  deals  in  them.  O  Fred,  you  have  given  your 
noble,  free,  manly  heart  to  the  daughter  of  a  slave- 
trader." 

"  No,  no7"  he  answered ;  "  not  his  daughter.  He 
gave  you  up  in  childhood ;  he  disgraces  you  and  tyran- 


THE   SLAVE -DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  63 

nizes  over  you  now.  No,  you  are  Lizzie  Livingston,  not 
Betsy  Witham.  And,  before  to-morrow  evening,  I  will 
call  you,  if  you  will  let  me,  by  another  name."  He 
stooped  and  whispered,  "  Lizzie  Bryant." 

She  started  and  trembled.  "  O  Fred,  do  not  speak 
of  that.  You  know  it  cannot  be." 

"  It  can  be,  very  well,  dearest.  Such  things  are  done 
every  day.  We  are  but  twenty  miles  from  the  borders 
of  another  state,  whose  laws  are  less  strict  than  ours  are  ; 
or  at  least  they  are  construed  so  as  to  allow  the  marriage 
of  persons  from  this  side  the  line,  without  license  or  cer- 
tificate. Do  but  say  the  word,  and  we  will  be  on  our 
way  there  in  the  morning,  with  one  of  the  same  fast 
horses  that  your  father  is  so  fond  of  driving." 

"  O  Frederick,  it  cannot  be.  Besides  my  father's 
claims,  I  should  be  setting  aside  those  of  my  kind  friends 
here  —  my  true  father  and  mother  they  often  seem 
to  me." 

"  They  are  such  indeed,  dear  Lizzie.  And  do  not  doubt 
that  what  I  propose  will  have  their  approval.  I  must 
not  tell  them,  for  they  are  bound  in  honor  to  oppose  it ; 
but  when  it  is  done,  they  will  rejoice  to  keep  you  near 
them,  and  thank  me  for  cutting  the  Gordian  knot  that 
they  could  not  untie." 

"  No,  Fred,  it  must  not  be.  They  would  be  suspected 
of  having  betrayed  their  trust ;  they  would  be  involved  in 
a  deadly  quarrel  with  my  father,  and  so  would  you  be. 
And  they  would  feel  that  I  had  not  rightly  returned  their 


64  HONOR}    OR, 

love  and  confidence.     No,  dear  Fred,  my  duty  is  plain  ; 

and  I  feel  that  God  has  given  me  strength  to  do  it.     I 

have  said  in  his  presence,  Come  what  will,  I  will  be  a 

faithful  daughter." 

"  O,  Lizzie,  am  I  nothing  to  you,  then?  " 

"You  are  every  thing  to  me,  Fred,  that  duty  will  let 

you  be.     I  see  I  must  take  Richard  Lovelace's  words  on 

a  girl's  lips,  and  say,  — 


not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much,    J 
Loved  I  not  honor  more.' " 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  said,  "  You  are  right,  and  I 
am  wrong.  It  should  be  the  knight  that  says  that,  not 
the  lady.  I  am  ashamed  that  you  should  have  to  say  it 
to  me.  How  strange  it  is  I  must  love  you  more  for  your 
refusing  me  !  Well,  I  must  wait,  and  it  is  some  comfort 
that  the  road  south  is  as  open  to  me  as  it  is  to  your 
father." 

"  But,  Fred,  you  would  not  sacrifice  your  prospects, 
your  business,  your  duties  here,  to  follow  me  to  that 
region.  You  cannot  approach  me  there  openly,  with 
my  father's  approval,  and  you  surely  would  not  do  it 
secretly." 

'•  Dear,  I  will  do  nothing  that  you  or  Lovelace  would 
be  ashamed  of.  I  will  try  to  prove  that  I  am  worthy 'of 
you,  and  that  I  have  caught  something  of  your  spirit. 
Do  not  fear  from  me  any  further  proposal  of  a  runaway 


THE   SLAVE -DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  65 

"Then  you  forgive  me,  Fred?"  she  asked,  as  Mrs. 
Livingston's  voice  reminded  them  of  the  increasing  cool- 
ness. His  answer  is  not  recorded ;  but  hand  in  hand 
they  reentered  the  parlor,  and  peace  was  in  their  hearts 
as  they  joined  with  their  honored  friends  in  the  evening 
prayer. 

6* 


66  HONOR',    OR, 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

TRAVELLING   SOUTH. 

T  was  not  without  extreme  pain  that  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Livingston  yielded  to  the  necessity  of  relin- 
quishing their  adopted  daughter.  Accustomed 
for  years  to  consider  her  as  their  own,  they  felt  that  with 
her  they  should  lose  the  very  light  of  their  house.  For 
her,  too,  they  felt  a  deep  solicitude,  which  was  not  entirely 
relieved  by  the  patient  acquiescence  she  yielded  to  what 
she  recognized  as  duty.  Yet  this  went  far  towards 
strengthening  them  to  bear  the  trial ;  and  Lizzie  nerved 
herself  the  more,  in  order  to  spare  pain  to  her  benefac- 
tors. Once,  indeed,  she  was  found  in  tears,  and,  when 
questioned,  made  no  secret  of  her  feelings.  Mrs.  Liv- 
ingston's tears  flowed  with  hers,  till  Lizzie  left  grieving 
for  herself,  and  sought  to  console  her  protectress.  "  We 
can  bear  it,  dear,  if  we  think  that  you  are  happy,"  said 
Mrs.  Livingston  ;  "  but  if  you  feel  so  about  it,  we  cannot 
consent ;  something  must  be  done  to  prevent  it." 

Lizzie  heard,  and  took  her  resolution.     Her  father's 
natural  claim,  her  mother's  wish,  were  enough  of  them- 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  67 

selves  to  show  her  what  was  right.  Henceforth  she 
curbed  every  expression  of  sadness.  No  more  tears  were 
shed  till  the  moment  of  parting  swept  away  all  restraint, 
and  excused  the  feeling  it  indulged. 

Mr.  Livingston  had  attempted  more  than  once  to  con- 
verse with  Witham  ;  but  his  repugnance  to  the  man  was 
such  that  only  a  few  sentences  could  be  interchanged  in 
peace.  Had  each  felt  the  other  to  be  his  equal,  they 
would  have  had  a  violent  quarrel ;  but  the  gentleman 
held  his  temper  in  restraint,  lest  he  should  disgrace  him- 
self by  a  contest  with  a  man  like  Witham  ;  and  the  slave- 
dealer  could  not  quite  overcome  the  consciousness  of  in- 
feriority. 

Mrs.  Livingston  was  more  successful  in  her  attempts 
to  converse.  On  the  subject  of  claiming  his  daughter, 
Witham  was  indeed  inflexible ;  and,  as  Lizzie  was  pre- 
pared to  yield,  there  was,  in  regard  to  that,  no  more  to 
be  said. 

But  Mrs.  Livingston  endeavored  to  explain  to  the 
father  in  what  respects  his  daughter  would  need  forbear- 
ance and  tenderness.  She  spoke  of  Lizzie's  repugnance 
to  the  slave  system,  avoiding  arguments  which  might  ex- 
asperate, but  pleading  the  difference  between  southern 
and  northern  habits  of  thought ;  and  urged  strongly  that 
Witham  should  carry  out  his  expressed  intention  to 
enter  another  mode  of  life,  and  have  no  more  to  do  with 
the  business  he  had  thus  far  pursued.  She  tried  to  inter- 
est Mrs.  Witham  to  the  same  purpose,  and  to  secure  a 


68  HONOR;    OR, 

feeling  of  friendliness  towards  Lizzie  in  the  heart  of  one 
on  whom  her  comfort  would  so  greatly  depend.  She  was 
encouraged  by  finding  that  the  step-mother  was  a  woman 
of  kinder  feelings,  and  even  of  better  principles,  than  she 
had  feared. 

The  time  of  parting  had  come.  Mrs.  Livingston  had 
placed  in  Lizzie's  hands  the  few  relics  of  her  own  mother 
that  had  been  preserved,  and  had  expressed,  by  many  a 
parting  gift,  her  own  deep  affection  for  the  child  she  was 
about  to  lose.  Among  these,  her  own  Bible,  the  one  she 
used  in  her  daily  reading,  seemed  the  thing  nearest  to 
herself  to  give  to  the  daughter  of  her  heart ;  and,  by  a 
mark  between  the  leaves,  and  in  the  margin,  she  pointed 
out  the  text,  "  When  my  father  and  my  mother  forsake 
me,  then  the  Lord  will  take  me  up."  The  farewell  scene 
was  over,  and  Witham,  proud  of  his  daughter,  and  soft- 
ened by  the  success  of  his  wishes,  determined  to  do  what 
he  could  to  make  her  southern  home  agreeable  to  her. 

It  was  towards  sunset,  about  a  week  after,  that  the  stage 
coach  which  contained  the  party  entered  the  streets  of 
Richmond.  Their  fellow-passengers,  a  Mrs.  Compton 
and  her  two  daughters,  returning  from  Philadelphia  to 
their  home  in  Georgia,  directed  the  driver  to  take  them 
to  the  Powhatan  House  ;  but  Witham  knew  that  his  own 
standing  was  not  such  as  to  obtain  him  and  his  party  ad- 
mission there.  He  named,  therefore,  another  hotel,  and 
they  parted,  Mrs.  Compton  with  a  distant  bow  to  Mrs. 
Witham,  and  the  girls  with  a  smile  to  Lizzie. 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  69 

"  There,  I  am  glad  to  have  them  out,"  said  Witham. 
"  Regular  quality,  that  think  themselves  up  to  my  lord 
and  my  lady,  as  I  used  to  see  in  old  England.  They  may 
have  the  grand  house  to  tnemselves  if  they  will ;  we  shall 
do  as  well,  I  guess,  with  Jim  Carpenter  at  the  "  Old 
Dominion." 

And  so  they  swept  round  the  base  of  the  hill,  where 
stands,  in  its  grand  position,  the  Capitol,  —  its  noble  pro- 
portions borrowed  by  the  taste  of  Jefferson  from  the  Ro- 
man temple  at  Nismes,  but  its  classic  grace  somewhat 
marred  by  the  modern  necessity  of  windows. 

The  next  morning,  as  Lizzie,  under  her  father's  escort, 
was  visiting  the  objects  of  interest  in  the  city,  they  en- 
tered this  building,  and  found  themselves  before  the  statue 
of  Washington,  by  Houdon,  which  adorns  its  centre. 
Another  party  were  standing  near  it,  and  they  recognized 
their  fellow-travellers  of  the  day  before.  The  younger 
Miss  Compton  looked  at  Lizzie  with  a  friendly  glance, 
but  the  other  ladies  did  not  appear  to  recognize  her. 

"  It  is  considered,"  said  a  gentleman  who  accompanied 
the  Comptons,  "  to  be  the  best  likeness  there  is  of  Wash- 
ington." 

"  I  believe  there  is  one  that  rivals  it,"  said  Mrs.  Comp- 
ton, "  one  found  on  a  piece  of  pottery,  which  proved  ad- 
mirably correct." 

"  So,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  it  was  promoted  from  its 
humble  place  on  the  side  of  a  pitcher,  and  framed  in 
gold." 


70  HONOR',    OJR, 

"  Like  a  village  maiden  made  a  queen,"  said  the  elder 
Miss  Compton. 

"  Would  you  like  to  attend  the  drawing-room  of  such 
a  queen,  Miss  Compton?"  said  "the  gentleman. 

*'  Hardly  in  real  life,  Mr.  Bruce.  I  should  be  afraid 
the  vulgarity  would  show  itself  on  the  throne." 

"  Our  English  friends  are  right  in  that,"  said  Mr. 
Bruce.  "  High  birth  is  the  security  for  high  culture  and 
high  honor." 

"  And  yet  we  find  interesting  characters  sometimes," 
said  Miss  Compton,  thoughtfully,  "  in  strange  connection. 
That  sweet  girl,  you  know,  Emma,  that  was  with  us  yes- 
terday." 

"  What,"  said  her  mother,  "  travelling  with  those " 

"  Mamma,  mamma,"  interposed  Emma,  hastily,  "  here 
is  the  young  lady  we  were  speaking  of." 

"  Bless  me  !  "  said  Mrs.  Compton,  "  what  was  I 

How  do  you  do,  my  dear?  My  daughter  was  just  speak- 
ing of  you.  Isabella,  I  believe  we  shall  not  have  time  to 
stay  longer."  And  the  party  retreated,  the  girls  looking 
kindly,  but  rather  shyly  at  their  late  fellow-traveller. 

"  Why,  Betsy,"  said  Witham,  "  I  believe  we've  driven 
her  ladyship  away !  So  much  for  the  land  of  liberty  and 
equality ! " 

"  With  all  that  he  did  for  it,"  said  Lizzie,  looking  at 
the  status,7  "  Pride  and  exclusiveness  among  the  whites, 
and  oppression  over  the  blacks  ! " 


"  As  to  the  blacks,"  said  Witham,  "  they  are  meant  to 


THE  SLAVE -DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  71 

be  oppressed,  as  you  call  it ;  they  ain't  fit  for  nothing  else. 
But  I  should  think  these  folks  thought  we  was  niggers 
too,  by  the  way  they  run  away  from  us." 

"  What  they  think  of  us  matters  little,"  said  Lizzie, 
Y  if  we  do  our  duty  wherever  we  are  placed." 

"  Well,  I  hope  to  be  placed  out  of  their  way,  at  any 
rate,"  said  Witham.  "  But  come,  let's  go  to  that  church 
you  wanted  to  see." 

It  was  the  Monumental  Church  ;  and,  after  an  approv- 
ing glance  at  the  general  appearance  of  the  building,  they 
stopped  beside  the  monument  in  the  porch,  and  Lizzie 
read  to  her  father  the  inscription,  commemorating  the 
dreadful  catastrophe  which  occasioned  its  erection  —  when 
the  theatre  that  stood  on  that  spot  took  fire,  and  nearly  a 
hundred  persons,  including  the  governor  of  the  state, 
perished  in  the  flames.  As  they  heard  anecdotes  told  of 
the  mutual  devotedness  of  some  among  the  sufferers,  "  It 
was  not  so  hard,"  thought  Lizzie,  "  to  perish,  if  the  loved 
one  was  at  their  side." 

The  next  moment  she  heard  the  sentiment,  in  almost 
the  same  words,  from  a  voice  near  her,  and  looking  round, 
saw  that  it  was  Isabella  Compton  who  spoke.  The  sad- 
ness of  her  look  and  of  her  tone  showed  that  she  too  was 
one  who  had  suffered.  They  understood  each  other's 
sympathy  in  a  moment. 

"  You  feel  as  I  do,"  said  Miss  Compton,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  I  had  just  formed  the  same  thought,"  said  Lizzie. 


72  HONOR ;    OR, 

"  Yet  I  was  afraid  it  was  selfish.  Ought  we  to  take  com- 
fort in  our  own  sufferings  because  a  friend  suffers  too  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  I  should  have  liked  to  share  his  fate," 
said  the  young  lady,  "  not  to  have  drawn  him  into  mine. 
The  friend  I  had  in  mind  was  lost  at -sea." 

"  O,  I  can  feel  for  you,"  said  Lizzie.  "  Your  case  is 
harder  than  mine." 

"  You  have  had  sorrow,  then?     I  thought  so." 

"  I  am  going  away  from  where  I  have  been  brought 
up,  and  I  leave  those  behind  whom  I  love  very  much." 

"  How  could  your  parents  let  you  go  with  such " 

"  Don't  finish  your  sentence.     He  is  my  father  ! " 

She  spoke  neither  angrily  nor  ashamed,  but  in  deep 
distress.  She  began  to  realize  how  her  father  was  re- 
garded ;  and  she  could  not,  as  at  the  first  moment,  charge 
it  upon  pride  and  exclusiveness. 

Miss  Compton  looked  surprised.  "Your  father?" 
said  she  ;  "  I  am  sorry  —  I  did  not  mean  to  say  any  thing 
rude." 

Her  mother,  who  had  been  talking  with  Mr.  Bruce, 
now  noticed  them,  and  called  Isabella  in  a  tone  of  some 
sharpness.  The  young  lady,  as  she  turned  away,  said, 
"  I  hope  we  shall  meet  again." 

"  Your  mother  does  not,"  thought  Lizzie.  "  Well,  I 
have  not  been  used  to  be  so  shunned ;  but,  if  all  turn 
against  my  father,  the  more  need  for  me  to  stand  by 
him."  And  she  felt  a  sudden  gush  of  that  filial  love 
which  she  had  prayed  for,  and  had  blamed  herself  that 
she  could  not  more  deeply  feel. 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  73 


CHAPTER    IX. 

LIFE    IN   XENOPHON. 

fENOPHON,  the  chief  town  of  Saunders  County, 
Alabama,  was  reached  at  length,  and  Lizzie  en- 
tered her  southern  home.  She  found  it  in  out- 
ward appearance  better  than  she  had  anticipated.  The 
house  was  of  that  pattern  which  was  then  all  but  univer- 
sal for  houses  of  the  middle  class,  two  parlors  with  fold- 
ing doors,  and  an  entry  at  the  side.  It  was  of  two  stories, 
and  the  brick  chimneys  stood  out  from  the  wooden  walls, 
as  if  the  builder  had  forgotten  them  at  first,  and  added 
them  after  the  rest  of  the  house  was  finished.  There 
was  a  grass  plat  before  the  door,  somewhat  weedy ;  but 
this  might  be  from  the  recent  absence  of  the  owner. 
About  thirty  feet  in  the  rear  stood  the  building  for  the 
work  and  lodging  of  the  house  servants  ;  and  on  one  side 
was  an  enclosure,  surrounded  by  a  high  wall,  and  con- 
taining the  jail,  a  building  of  brick,  divided  into  two 
rooms  for  the  male  and  female  subjects  of  Witham's  traf- 
fic. Lizzie  shuddered  as  she  looked  at  it ;  but  she  was 
upheld  by  her  father's  promise  to  relinquish  the  business, 
7 


74  HONOR;   OR, 

and  by  the  determination  to  do  what  was  in  her  power, 
in  the  mean  time,  to  diminish  the  miseries  that  slavery 
brought. 

Three  of  the  servants,  a  mother  and  her  two  children, 
had  been  left  by  Witham  at  the  neighboring  tavern  during 
his  journey  to  the  North,  paying  for  their  humble  board 
and  lodging  by  such  services  as  they  could  render.  These 
were  of  small  account  during  most  of  the  season,  as 
there  were  enough  without  them ;  but  at  the  time  for 
picking  cotton,  the  tavern-keeper  was  glad  to  have  the 
command  of  three  capable  "  hands."  The  woman,  Ra- 
chel, surprised  Lizzie  at  first  by  the  strange  jargon  which 
she  spoke,  and  by  her  extreme  ignorance  of  every  thing 
beyond  her  lowly  employment ;  but  her  young  mistress 
soon  found  her  to  be  affectionate  and  faithful.  The  chil- 
dren, Nancy  and  Peter,  about  fifteen  and  thirteen  years 
old,  seemed  as  intelligent  as  white  girls  and  boys  of  sim- 
ilar age,  and  full  of  merriment,  which  sometimes  was 
obstreperous. 

Wishing  both  to  make  herself  of  use,  and  to  cultivate 
a  pleasant  feeling  towards  herself  on  the  part  of  the  slaves, 
Lizzie  began  by  doing,  as  she  had  done  at  Mr.  Living- 
ston's, a  part  of  the  household  work.  But  she  soon 
found  that  this  was  entirely  contrary  to  Rachel's  notions 
of  propriety. 

"  No,  no,  young  missis,"  said  the  woman,  as  she  found 
her  sweeping  her  own  room  ;  "  what  for  you  hab  nigger, 
me  and  Nancy,  for  you  to  go  work  yoursef  ?  No,  no ; 


THE  SLAVE -DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  75 

gib  ole  Rachel  de  broom ;  you  go  down  dar,  play  de 
pianny."  She  spoke  so  earnestly,  that  Lizzie  saw  that 
it  was  not  merely  the  pretence  of  humility,  but  that  the 
woman  was  actually  uneasy  at  seeing  a  member  of  the 
white  family  working,  as  at  something  which  was  not 
proper. 

The  pity  which  she  felt  for  their  servile  condition  was 
diminished  for  a  time  by  finding  how  happy  they  appeared 
to  be.  She  recalled  the  remark  she  had  heard  from  Dr. 
Solesby,  that  gayety  in  degradation  is  painful  to  witness, 
because  it  shows  that  the  degradation  has  entered  into 
the  soul.  Yet  she  could  not  but  be  thankful  for  even 
this  outward  alleviation  of  the  lot  of  the  bondman. 

She  observed  in  them  all,  and  in  the  young  girl  Nancy 
especially,  that  love  of  bright  colors  which  is  character- 
istic of  the  race.  One  Sunday  afternoon,  Nancy  came 
up  stairs  to  her,  decked  in  a  profusion  of  hues,  and  on 
Lizzie's  good-natured  notice  how  brightly  she  was  dressed, 
replied,  "  Tank  you,  missis  ;  I  only  corned  up  to  be  com- 
plimized." 

For  two  or  three  weeks  Nancy  was  absent,  her  services 
being  wanted  at  the  hotel.  The  day  after  her  return  to 
the  house,  Lizzie  heard  from  the  lower  regions  the  loud 
lament  of  a  child  under  correction  ;  and,  on  her  coming 
down  to  inquire,  the  mother  told  her,  that  she  "  had  to 
crack  Peter  a  little."  The  poor  fellow's  trouble  came 
from  his  ambition.  During  Nancy's  absence,  he  had 
been  allowed  to  take  her  place  in  setting  the  table  ;  and 


76  HONOR',    OR, 

when  she  returned,  and  undertook  to  resume  her  duties, 
he  resisted  the  change  with  so  much  passion  as  to  occa- 
sion Rachel's  resort  to  the  rod. 

Lizzie's  desire  to  do  good  led  her  quickly  to  entertain 
the  thought  of  teaching  these  children  to  read.  She 
was  not  at  the  time  aware  of  the  laws  against  such 
instruction.  She  spoke  of  it  first  to  Nancy,  who  eagerly 
embraced  the  offer.  Peter  was  indifferent  at  first,  but, 
when  he  found  out  that  Nancy  was  going  to  learn,  his 
ambition  to  be  equal  to  his  sister  was  excited  ;  and,  that 
no  motive  might  be  wanted,  his  mother  asked  Lizzie  to 
tell  her  if  he  did  not  learn  well,  and  she  would  "  crack 
him." 

The  matter  was  almost  settled,  when  it  occurred  to 
Lizzie,  that  she  ought  not  to  undertake  such  an  office  in 
the  family  without  consulting  her  step-mother.  The  in- 
tercourse between  them  had  not  been  intimate,  the  re- 
straint natural  to  the  relation  in  which  they  stood  being 
increased  by  the  difference  in  education  and  habits  of 
thought.  But  Lizzie  was  desirous  to  do  all  that  might 
be  expected  of  her,  and  felt  conscious  of  having  done 
wrong  in  going  as  far  as  she  had,  without  the  knowledge 
of  the  mistress  of  the  family.  Good-natured  Mrs. 
Witham  received  her  apology  and  request  with  some  sur- 
prise, but  gave  her  consent  with  indifference,  though  she 
told  Lizzie  it  was  "  agin  the  law."  "  But  laws,"  said 
she,  "  isn't  nothing  in  one's  own  house.  I've  know'd  lots 
of  people  have  taught  their  niggers  to  read  —  folks  that 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  77 

hadn't  nothing  else  to  do,  I  reckon,  or  they  wouldn't  have 
wasted  their  time  so.  So  you  do  jes'  as  you  please,  Miss 
Betsy ;  perhaps  you'll  kind  of  like  it,  for  it  must  be 
mighty  lonesome  for  you  here." 

Armed  with  this  permission,  Lizzie  began  her  task. 
The  children  were  bright  and  obedient,  and  soon  began 
to  feel  an  interest  in  her  instructions.  'Their  young  mis- 
tress was  happy  in  the  feeling  of  usefulness,  and  circum- 
stances around  her  seemed  more  favorable  than  she  had 
dared  to  anticipate.  Her  father  and  his  wife,  though 
unpolished,  were  kind  ;  his  habits  of  conduct  and  language 
had  been  kept  under  restraint  by  her  presence  ;  a  few  of 
the  young  people  of  the  village  had  offered  their  acquaint- 
ance to  Lizzie,  and  she  did  not  yet  know  that  they  were 
not  the  first  either  in  character  or  education.  She  saw 
differences,  indeed,  in  all  around  her,  from  her  own  dear 
New  England  home ;  but  her  expectations  had  been  so 
moderate,  that  the  difference  was  less  than  she  had  sup- 
posed. As  the  season  advanced,  too,  she  noticed  with 
delight  the  proofs  of  a  genial  climate  in  the  lengthened 
beauty  of  the  autumn  and  the  absence  of  northern  snow 
and  sleet.  Letters  came  frequently  from  the  kind  friends 
she  had  left,  and,  though  they  saddened  her  by  some  of 
their  allusions,  she  was  able  to  reply  to  them  in  a  manner 
that  showed  that  her  submissive  mind  had  found  many 
sources  of  cheerfulness.  But  her  peaceful  sky  was  soon 
overcast. 

One  morning  she  was  awakened  early  by  a  burst  of 
7* 


78  HONOR;    OR, 

clamorous  grief,  which  filled  the  house.  As  she  rose  in 
bed,  and  tried  to  imagine  what  the  cause  could  be,  Rachel 
came  into  the  room  sobbing  and  wringing  her  hands. 

"  O  Miss  Betsy,  Miss  Betsy,  Nancy's  gone !  Nan- 
cy's done  gone  away  ! " 

"  Nancy  gone  away !  Why,  Rachel,  what  do  you 
mean?  Wasn't  she  at  home  last  night?" 

"  O,  yes,  missis,  but  she's  done  gone ;  she's  in  de 
yard." 

"  In  the  yarH,  Aunt  Rachel !  Why,  if  she's  in  the 
yard,  she  can't  be  gone." 

"In  de  jail  yard,  missis.  De  massa  hab  took  her  off 
to  sell.  O  Miss  Betsy,  could  you  speak  to  de  massa  for 
de  poor  nigger  gal,  for  de  poor  ole  aunty,  dat  hab  no  oder 
chile  but  little  Peter,  and  de  four  dat's  away  in  Lou'si- 
ana?" 

"  Father's  taken  her  off  ?  My  poor  little  Nancy  !  I'll 
go  this  instant,  Rachel !  But  how  do  you  know  she  has 
gone  ?  " 

"  La,  missis,  de  massa  call  Nancy  up  in  de  entry,  and 
he  put  on  de  lock-urns  on  her  arms,  and  tote  her  right  off; 
and  de  chile  scream,  and  he  tell  her  hush,  and  slap  her 
on  de  face." 

"  O,  my  father,  my  father ! "  said  Lizzie,  with  tears 
not  less  bitter  than  those  of  the  slave. 

Dressing  herself  hastily,  she  went  in  search  of  Witham. 
The  scene  between  them  was  too  painful  to  be  described. 
Lizzie's  indignation  burst  the  bounds  she  had  determined 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  79 

to  observe  as  those  of  filial  duty ;  and  finding  entreaties 
vain  to  change  her  father's  purpose  of  selling  the  girl,  she 
gave  free  utterance  to  her  feelings  with  regard  to  the 
system  of  slavery,  the  trade,  and  those  engaged  in  it. 
But  she  soon  found  that  in  the  war  of  words  she  was  no 
match  for  the  man  whose  anger  she  thus  provoked.  He 
answered  her  with  a  storm  of  abuse  and  profanity  ;  and 
the  unhappy  girl  fled  to  her  own  room,  and  wept  there 
alone. 

She  remained  there  the  greater  part  of  the  day.  The 
feeling  of  terror  with  which  she  had  heard  her  father's 
outburst  of  passion,  gave  way,  ere  long,  to  a  sense  of 
utter  desolation.  She  had  failed  in  her  attempt  to  res- 
cue Nancy ;  she  recognized,  for  the  first  time  fully,  the 
odious  character  of  her  father's  trade  ;  she  had  heard  the 
language  he  used  when  excited,  in  all  its  brutality  and  its 
blasphemy  ;  and,  worst  of  all,  her  conscience  reproached 
her  that  her  own  ungoverned  anger  and  unfilial  words 
had  led  to  this  frightful  exhibition  on  his  part,  and  had 
made  a  breach  between  them,  which  might  probably  be 
fatal  to  her  influence  for  good,  either  to  him  or  others. 

To  her  religious  mind,  however,  this  last  thought 
brought  the  means  of  comfort.  Guilty  as  her  father  was, 
she  herself  was  not  without  blame.  If  it  added  to  her 
sadness  to  feel  that,  far  from  earthly  friends,  she  had 
broken  the  law  of  her  heavenly  Parent,  the  way,  at  least, 
was  open  to  his  throne  of  mercy.  With  tears,  no  longer 
of  passion  or  of  terror,  but  of  penitence,  she  sought  for- 


80  HONOR',    OR, 

giveness ;  but,  as  she  rose  from  her  knees,  she  felt  that 
her  pardon  from  above  would  not  be  complete  until  she 
had  received  that  of  her  earthly  father.  Wrong  as  his 
conduct  was,  he  was  her  father  still.  Xhere  was  the 
divine  command  to  honor  him,  and  she  must  do  it  by 
confessing  her  fault. 

But  would  he  not  then  be  strengthened  in  his  wrong 
course  ?  Would  not  all  her  protest  against  his  conduct 
go  for  nothing?  It  might  be  so,  she  thought ;  she  would 
try  to  prevent  it ;  but,  if  her  influence  with  him  was  lost, 
the  fact  must  be  accepted  as  a  part  of  her  punishment. 

She  had  reached  this  conclusion,  and  was  thinking  how 
best  to  make  her  combined  confession  and  protest,  when 
she  heard  a  knock  at  her  door,  followed  directly  by  her 
step-mother's  call,  — 

"  Betsy,  Betsy  dear,  it's  three  o'clock,  and  you  haven't 
been  to  breakfast  nor  dinner." 

Lizzie  opened  the  door,  and  the  sight  of  the  kind,  anx- 
ious face  stirred  again  the  fountain  of  tears. 

"  There,  don't  cry,  Betsy.  Father  was  real  angry ; 
but  he's  gone  away,  and  I  thought  I'd  see  what  had  come 
of  you." 

"  O,  mother,  I  am  afraid  I  have  done  very  wrong." 

"  Yes,  you  have,  to  stay  up  in  your  room  so  long,  a 
taking  on,  and  not  eating  a  mouthful  of  victuals.  It'll 
make  you  sick  if  you  go  on  a  doing  so." 

"  O,  I  did  not  mean  that.  I  meant  that  I  spoke  to  father 
in  a  wrong  way." 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  81 

"  Well,  now,  Betsy,  I'm  real  glad  to  hear  you  say  so. 
A  father's  a  father,  after  all,  and  to  be  so  dreadful  angry 
with  him,  just  because  he  goes  and  sells  his  own  nig- 
ger  " 

"  But  I  can't  think  that  right,"  said  poor  Lizzie,  anx- 
ious to  be  true  to  both  her  duties.  "  Please,  ma'am,  tell 
me,  what  has  become  of  the  poor  child?" 

"Well,  now,  I'll  tell  you,"  said  her  step-mother,  with 
a  look  and  voice  that  seemed  to  promise  well.  "  You 
see,  father  was  a  going  to  sell  her  to  that  man  that  was 
here  yesterday.  He's  a  travelling  trader,  going  to  Mas- 
sissippi.  But  I  didn't  like  to  send  her  off  so  fur,  and  I 
talked  to  him  some  about  it,  and  he  was  a  thinking  of 
selling  of  her  somewhere  round  here,  when  you  spoke 
to  him.  You  went  at  him  so  strong,  he  got  mad,  and 
swore  he  would  sell  her  to  the  Massissippi  man,  any  how. 
And  so  he  went  and  done  it." 

"  And  it  is  my  fault  then,  my  passion,  my  unkindness, 
that  sent  the  poor  child  away !  O,  poor  Nancy,  poor 
Rachel ! " 

•  "  Why,  bless  your  heart,  Betsy,  don't  begin  taking  on 
again.  John,  —  I  mean  father,  —  he  sold  the  gal ;  but 
I  let  Rachel  go  out,  and  she  asked  all  around,  and  she 
begged,  and  she  prayed ;  and  at  last  she  got  Squire  Ad- 
ams to  buy  Nancy  of  the  Massissippi  man.  And,  I 
reckon,  father  isn't  sorry,  after  all." 

"Squire  Adams?" 

"  Yes ;  the  gentleman  that  has  the  cotton  warehouse 


82  HONOR',    OR, 

out  on  Main  Street.  He  said  he'd  have  Nancy  to  wait 
on  his  wife.  And  so  she'll  stay  in  town,  and  see  her 
mammy  every  now  and  then." 

"  O,  I  am  so  glad  !  "  said  Lizzie.  "  But,"  she  added 
after  a  pause,  "  I  wish  it  had  been  father  that  bought 
her  back  again." 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  what  difference  that  makes  ;  for  the 
gal's  here,  and  all's  ended  well.  And  now,  you  wash 
your  face,  and  come  and  get  ready  to  speak  to  father 
when  he  comes  back." 

"With  her  homely  mediation,  and  Lizzie's  humble  con- 
fession of  the  wrong  of  her  passionate  words,  Witham 
was  won  to  say,  "  Well,  well,  never  mind.  But,  look 
here,  Betsy,  once  for  all,  I  won't  have  none  of  your  inter- 
fering atween  me  and  my  niggers." 

His  daughter  was  too  crestfallen  to  reply ;  and  so,  as 
has  happened  in  many  another  instance,  the  less  offender 
was  condescendingly  forgiven  by  the  greater. 


THE  SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  83 


CHAPTER    X. 


A  STAGE   COACH  AND  ITS   PASSENGERS. 


years  had  passed  since  the  conversation 
recorded  in  our  last  chapter,  when,  along  the 
most  direct  road  from  Charleston  to  New 
Orleans,  a  vehicle  was  seen  advancing,  of  a  description 
which  is  now  seen  no  more.  It  was  a  mail  coach, 
but  not  such  as  the  well-caped  Jehu  drives  from  an 
English  inn,  nor  such  as  those  that  from  their  birth- 
place on  the  Hudson  spread  far  and  wide  the  glories 
of  modern  Troy.  Straight  built,  long,  heavy,  and  with- 
out a  door,  its  anterior  portion  was  occupied,  besides 
the  black  driver  and  a  white  boy,  by  piles  of  trunks  and 
mail  bags,  while  behind  this  barricade  sat  the  passengers, 
suggesting,  to  the  mind  of  any  one  who  might  catch  a 
glimpse  of  them,  the  inquiry  how  they  had  ever  got  in, 
and  how  they  could  possibly  ever  get  out.  The  one  we 
now  speak  of  was  approaching  the  end,  not  indeed  of 
its  journey  for  that  day,  but  of  its  term  of  service  on 
that  road  ;  for  the  word  had  gone  forth,  a  new  contract 
liad  been  formed  with  the  post-office  department,  and  the 


84  HONOR ;    OR, 

Troy-built  stage  tjjiat  was  to  take  its  place  was  already 
on  its  way,  destined  to  be  superseded  in  its  turn  by  the 
rattling  car  and  screaming  locomotive. 

Slowly  and  with  labor  the  horses  dragged  the  heavy 
vehicle,  not  over,  but  through  the  thick  clay  of  the  road. 
At  length  the  clay  was  varied  by  a  large  stone,  and  after 
a  terrible  jolt,  the  passengers  were  aware  that  something 
in  the  foundation  of  their  moving  prison  had  given 
way. 

"  Dat  axle  done  broke  agin  !  "  said  the  negro  driver. 
"  Here,  Mas'  Tom,  take  de  reins  ;  I  must  get  sumfin'  to 
mend  him." 

The  needed  aid  was  quickly  obtained  in  the  form  of  a 
rail  from  the  neighboring  fence,  and  this  being  placed  in 
position,  April  —  for  that  was  the  driver's  vernal  name  — 
resumed  his  place  of  command. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  one  of  the  passengers,  "  how  one 
of  their  fine  new  stages  would  have  stood  such  a  jolt  as 
that.  It's  all  nonsense,  putting  those  frippery  things  on 
these  roads  of  ours.  I've  a  good  mind  to  keep  the  old 
line  running  as  an  opposition.  Don't  you  think  people 
have  got  sense  enough  to  support  it  ?  " 

The  man  whom  he  addressed  smiled  dubiously  at  the 
ardor  of  his  conservative  friend,  and  suggested  that  it 
would  be  hard  to  keep  up  an  opposition,  as  the  new  line 
had  got  the  contract  for  carrying  the  mail. 

"Well,"  said  the  old  contractor,  "I  s'pose  they're 
bound  to  make  a  trial ;  but  I  should  like  to  see  how  long 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  85 

it  will  be  before  they  break  those  gimcrack  things  all  to 
pieces,  and  come  to  me  to  buy  my  old  solid  stages." 

Behind  this  disinterested  lover  of  the  past  sat  a  couple 
of  young  men,  who  exchanged  amused  glances,  and 
continued  their  own  conversation.  TJiey  could  speak 
with  the  more  freedom,  as  the  others  were  absorbed  in 
theirs. 

"  So,  George,"  said  one  of  them,  "  you  really  like 
this  southern  country  better  than  you  expected." 

"  So  well,  Fred,  that,  but  for  family  ties,  I  would  as 
willingly  find  my  home  here  as  any  where.  Some  of 
the  customs  I  have  been  used  to,  for  you  know  I  was 
partly  brought  up  at  the  South.  I  find  many  kind  friends, 
and  there  are  many  opportunities  to  do  good,  which,  you 
know,  in  my  profession  if  in  any,  ought  to  be  thought  of. 
The  greatest  objection  is  the  social  system  prevalent 
here." 

"  You  mean  slavery,"  said  Fred.  "  As  to  that,  I 
confess,  it  does  not  strike  me  as  offensively  as  I  expected. 
I  think  as  I  always  did,  and  trust  I  always  shall,  about 
the  injustice  of  it ;  but  there  does  not  seem  to  be  as 
much  suffering  as  I  had  feared.  On  the  contrary,  the 
blacks  seem  remarkably  light-hearted.  One  would  not 
suppose,  to  see  them,  that  there  was  such  a  thing  as 
slavery." 

"  Perhaps  you  thought  as  one  man  did  that  I  heard 
of —  that  all  slaves  wore  literal  iron  chains ;  so,  when 
he  came  to  Charleston,  and  saw  the  negroes  going 
8 


86  HONOR',    OB, 

about  the  streets,  he  thought  they  were  all  free  blacks, 
and  asked  where  the  slaves  were." 

"  No  ;  I  own  that  Charleston  gave  me  an  unfavorable 
impression  of  the  system,  not  on  account  of  the  blacks, 
but  of  the  whites.  There  seemed  to  be  a  sense  of  in- 
security. The  military  police,  a  sentinel  even  posted 
in  every  church  door  on  Sunday ;  the  drum-beat  at 
evening ;  the  Citadel  as  a  place  of  defence  in  case  of 
insurrection,  —  all  told  a  tale  as  of  people  living  on  the 
verge  of  a  volcano.  But  the  negroes  themselves  seemed 
happy  enough,  and  some  of  them  well  enough  off  too. 
The  hotel  I  stopped  at,  the  most  fashionable  there,  they 
told  me  was  kept  by  a  black  man." 

"  And  did  they  tell  you  that  he  had  to  get  a  pass 
signed  by  one  of  his  boarders,  in  order  to  go  abroad 
after  nine  o'clock  at  night  ?  No ;  Jones  is  one  of  the 
exceptions  that  prove  the  rule.  Here  and  there,  a  free 
negro  may  be  petted,  but  he  is  still  kept  under." 

"  Why,  George,  I  didn't  expect  to  hear  a  southern 
minister,  like  you,  talk  like  an  abo— ." 

"  Hush ! "  said  George,  checking  his  friend  more  by 
his  gesture  than  by  his  voice.  "  Don't  pronounce  that 
dreaded  word  in  southern  hearing.  But  do  not  misun- 
derstand me,  either.  I  am  not  vain  enough  to  think 
of  revolutionizing  society ;  and  while  I  live  with  the 
southern  people,  and  eat  their  bread,  I  should  think  it 
base  treason  to  say  a  word  that  would  really  endanger 
their  safety ;  but  it  is  another  thing  to  maintain  that 
their  system  is  all  right." 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAWGHTER.  87 

"  But  how  can  you  endure  to  live  here,  if  you  don't 
think  it  right?" 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  Paul  liked  'the  despotism  of 
Nero?  Yet  he  endured  to  live  under  it,  and  without 
saying  a  word  directly  against  it ;  but  he  was  constantly 
sowing  the  seed  of  that  heavenly  plant  before  whose 
growth  despotism  and  sla —  all  forms  of  oppression 
must  fade  and  die." 

"  You  think  the  favorable  view  is  superficial.  What 
then  lies  under  the  surface  ?" 

"  More  than  I  can  tell  with  safety  here  ;  more  than  I 
could  tell  you  any  where.  But  to  touch  one  of  the  most 
obvious  points  ;  last  week  I  married  a  negro  couple. 
The  wedding  was  very  prettily  got  up ;  the  kitchen 
was  perfectly  neat,  and  the  guests  assembled  in  it  —  all 
slaves  — r  were  neatly  dressed  ;  the  women  perhaps  a  lit- 
tle too  showily.  Cake  and  wine  were  handed  round,  as 
if  it  had  been  in  the  parlor.  And  yet,  when  I  said, 
'Whom  God  hath  joined  together  let  not  man  put 
asunder/  I  felt  as  if  I  had  uttered  words  of  impious 
mockery." 

4 'But  why?  People  who  treated  their  slaves  so  well 
would  not  set  aside  the  marriage  which  they  themselves 
had  permitted." 

"  Probably  not ;  but  suppose  a  failure  in  business,  or 
the  division  of  the  estate  by  death.  Then  the  law  of 
man  comes  in,  sets  aside  the  solemn  warning  of  the 
Saviour,  sends  John  to  one  master,  Jane  to  another, 


e 


88  •       HONOR',    OR, 

three   hundred   miles    off,    and   perhaps    their    children 
to  a  third." 

"  That,  indeed;  I  had  not  thought  of  before." 
"  No  ;  and  so  it  is  with  unnumbered  bearings  of  the 
system.     The  people  who  live  under  it  cannot  help  these 
vils  ;  they  can  only  mitigate  them  by  personal  care  and 
(kindness  ;  but  no  one  dare  assail  the  system  itself,  for 
ll  are  convinced  that  in  its  destruction  society  itself 

be  overthrown." 

« 

"What  will  be  the  end  of  it  all,  then?" 

"  I  cannot  tell.  I  can  but  preach  the  gospel,  teach 
the  people  the  great  law  of  love  to  God  and  man,  and 
leave  that  to  do  the  work  gradually  ;  but  sometimes  I 
think  some  tremendous  convulsion  will  sweep  the  whole 
away.  So  I  live  on  and  try  to  do  my  best.  I  say  little 
about  slavery,  but  much  about  justice  and  charity  to 
all  ;  but  it  does  move  my  indignation  when  a  man  from 
the  North  comes  here  boiling  over  with  abolitionism, 
spends  a  month  or  two,  and  goes  back  declaring  that  he 
understands  the  whole  subject,  that  the  slaves  are  very 
well  treated,  and  that  those  who  object  to  the  system 
are  only  fanatics." 

"What's  that  about  the  abolutionist  fanatics?"  said 
one  of  the  men  in  front. 

"  I  was  saying  that  some  people  changed  their  minds 
about  slavery  very  soon  after  they  come  here,"  said  the 
young  preacher. 

"If  they   don't    change    their    minds,   they'd   better 


THE   SLAVE -DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  89 

change  their  tune,  about  the  quickest,"  said  the  man. 
"  What  are  they  after,  meddling  with  other  folks'  busi- 
ness ?  If  I  was  to  meet  an  abolutionist,  I'd  beat  him  as 
I  would  a  nigger." 

"  I  would  advise  you,  gentlemen,"  said  the  other 
passenger,  in  a  serious  though  civil  manner,  "  not  to 
talk  much  on  such  subjects  while  you  are  travelling; 
especially  if,  as  I  suppose,  you  are  from  the  North." 

"  O,"  said  the  clergyman,  "I  am  a  Southerner  in 
part,  and  a  minister  in  a  southern  parish.  As  for  my 
friend,  I  don't  know  but  he  is  more  southern  than  I  am. 
I  thank  you  for  your  hint,  but  I  think  we  shall  be  safe." 

"  Still,  sir,  you  must  think  also  of  the  safety  of  others. 
These  things  are  not  to  be  spoken  of  in  all  companies," 
motioning  with  his  hand  towards  the  negro  who  drove 
their  conveyance. 

"  If  you  mean  April,  I  reckon  he's  pretty  safe,"  said 
the  stage  proprietor.  "  I'm  not  a  man  to  be  afraid  of 
my  own  niggers,  but  I  fancy  they're  rather  afraid  of  me. 
So  the  parson  can  talk  on,  and  I'd  rather  like  to  have 
him  show  his  hand." 

His  more  gentlemanly  companion  turned  half  round, 
and  gave  a  quick  glance  of  caution  to  the  young  min- 
ister, then  changed  the  conversation  by  the  abrupt  ques- 
tion, "  What's  cotton  now  in  Savannah?" 

"  Riz,"  said  the  other  ;  "  cotton's  riz  ;  and  that's  good 
news.  There's  some  trouble  about  the  crop  abroad. 
One  man  told  me  he'd  heard  say  that  the  Grand  Packer 
8* 


90  HONOR;    OR, 

of  Egypt  had  hung  up  his  pestle,  and  swore  he  wouldn't 
pack  another  bale." 

The  gentleman  laughed.  "  A  new  meaning  to  the 
title,"  said  he.  "Bashaw,  pacha,  packer,  —  Bluebeard 
metamorphosed  into  a  laborer  to  fill  cotton  bales !  By 
the  way,  gentlemen,  did  you  ever  see  a  finer  sight  in  the 
way  of  culture  than  a  cotton  plantation?  Look  over 
there,  if  you  can  see  between  April  and  the  boy,  at  that 
prospect,  spreading  far  and  far  away,  with  no  fences  to 
divide  it  —  all  the  property  of  one  man.  All  that  verdure 
will  in  a  few  weeks  be  dotted  with  white,  from  the  open- 
ing bolls  ;  and  that  white  is  the  talisman  by  which  the 
South,  if  need  be,  can  control  the  world." 

"  The  absence  of  fences,"  said  the  young  traveller, 
Fred,  "  reminds  me  of  the  meadows  on  the  Connecticut, 
near  Northampton.  But  those  are  not  all  one  man's 
land ;  the  wide  field  is  divided  into  numberless  little 
strips,  with  their  various  crops  of  grass,  vegetables,  and 
broom-corn.  It  is  like  the  poet's  imaginary  golden  age 
of  England, — 

'  When  every  rood  of  ground  maintained  its  man.'  " 

"  O,  as  to  that,"  said  the  Southerner,  "  unity  of  pos- 
session does  not  imply  a  scarcity  of  population.  Come 
here  when  the  bolls  are  fully  open,  and  you  will  see  the 
field  swarming  with  men,  women,  and  children,  all 
gathering  the  treasure  which  gives  bread  to  them  as 
well  as  to  their  master." 


THE    SLAVE -DEALER'S    DAUGHTER.  91 

The  Northerner  only  replied  by  repeating  thought- 
fully, "  Maintained  its  man ! "  The  journey  was  pursued 
for  a  time  in  silence,  and  when  conversation  was  re- 
sumed, it  was  on  indifferent  topics. 

At  the  next  town  the  travellers  parted ;  the  southern 
gentleman,  for  whom  his  own  open  carriage  and  well- 
dressed  servant  were  waiting,  turned  off  towards  his 
plantation,  which  he  courteously  invited  the  young 
Northerners  to  visit  when  they  should  find  it  conven- 
ient ;  the  stage  contractor  went  to  his  house  hard  by ; 
Fred  pursued  his  journey  to  New  Orleans ;  and  his 
friend  George  went  to  visit  the  college  at  Tusculum, 
and  spend  the  rest  of  his  summer  vacation  among  the 
hills  in  the  northern  part  of  the  state. 


92  HONOR',    OR, 


CHAPTER    XI. 

*r 

TUSCULUM. 

(^n  BOUT  half  a  mile  from  the  three  large  brick 
/^\  buildings  which  formed  the  classic  centre  of  the 
f  'J^  city  of  Tusculum,  stood  a  house,  before  which 
a  sign-board,  swinging  on  a  lofty  mast,  announced  its 
name  as  the  Eagle  Hotel.  The  day  after  our  travellers 
parted,  the  few  idlers  on  the  broad  piazza  observed  a 
single  passenger  emerge  from  the  stage  coach.  It  was 
George  Stevens,  the  young  minister.  A  colored  servant 
coming  forward  to  take  his  baggage,  he  inquired  if  Mr. 
Witham  was  at  home,  as  he  had  a  letter  of  introduction 
to  him.  The  man  answered  that  his  master  was  in,  but 
was  lying  down.  Going  into  the  house,  however,  he  re- 
turned directly,  saying  that  his  master  would  be  happy  to 
see  the  gentleman. 

Mr.  Stevens  followed  his  guide,  and  had  not  far  to  go. 
The  front  door  opened  into  a  hall  about  twenty-five  feet 
square,  on  the  opposite  side  of  which  another  door,  in  a 
partition  of  unpainted  wood,  led  into  a  room  of  less 
width  but  greater  length.  Part  of  this  was  occupied  by 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  93 

tables  of  coarse  construction ;  but  at  the  farther  end, 
stretched  on  a  cot,  lay  the  burly  figure  of  a  man  half 
dressed.  His  appearance  indicated  habitual  and  recent 
indulgence  in  liquor.  Without  rising,  he  opened  the 
letter  addressed  to  him,  welcomed  his  guest,  and  intro- 
duced him  to  his  wife  and  daughter.  The  former  was 
younger  than  her  husband,  and  apparently  in  very  feeble 
health.  The  daughter,  too,  was  pale  ;  but  this  might  be 
from  the  effect  of  a  southern  climate.  There  was  taste 
in  the  choice  and  arrangement  of  her  cheap  and  simple 
dress.  There  was  an  expression  on  her  features,  not  so 
much  of  dejection  as  of  seriousness — an  expression  which 
forsook  her  the  moment  she  was  spoken  to,  when  she 
answered  with  a  bright  smile,  or  turned  quickly  to  what- 
ever work  had  been  assigned  her.  Still,  when  the  remark 
or  the  work  was  over,  that  expression  would  return. 

The  visitor  soon  had  assigned  to  him  a  room  adjoining 
that  in  which  they  were.  It  was,  like  the  others,  par- 
titioned with  unpainted  boards ;  but  what  female  taste 
could  do  with  scanty  means,  had  been  done  to  render  it 
comfortable.  Mr.  Stevens  soon  left  it,  and  inquiring  his 
way  around  the  village,  proceeded  to  distribute  his  letters 
of  introduction,  which  in  other  instances  were  received 
under  circumstances  more  promising  than  those  of  With- 
am,  for  the  character  of  the  persons  to  whom  they  were 
directed.  He  learned  incidentally,  in  conversation,  that 
the  tavern-keeper  had  been  in  the  place  about  a  year  and 
a  half.  Little  seemed  to  be  known  of  his  family,  but 


94  HONOR;   OR, 

there  was  a  feeling  of  pity  for  them,  of  that  lukewarm 
kind  which  people  express  in  behalf  of  those  whom  they 
cannot  help,  and  with  whom  they  do  not  desire  to  have 
any  thing  to  do. 

His  letters  were  all  distributed  except  the  last,  and 
with  this  he  was  directed  to  a  house  a  little  distance  from 
the  town,  and  surrounded  by  shrubbery.  Reaching  it  by 
a  path  that  wound  pleasantly  among  trees,  partly  of  the 
natural  growth  and  partly  of  recent  planting,  he  inquired 
for  Professor  Wheeler,  and  was  received  by  a  gentleman 
of  middle  age,  who  warmly  welcomed  him  on  the  perusal 
of  his  letter  of  introduction.  It  was  nearly  the  hour  of 
the  evening  meal,  and  the  guest  was  not  suffered  to 
depart  until  he  had  shared  it.  Another  hour  passed  on, 
and,  delighted  with  the  intercourse  of  an  intelligent 
family  from  his  own  section  of  the  country,  Stevens  could 
scarce  resist  the  urgent  wish  of  his  entertainer  that  he 
would  transfer  his  baggage  from  the  hotel,  and  make  the 
professor's  house  his  home  while  he  should  remain  in 
Tusculum.  It  was  resisted,  however ;  and  the  young 
man  returned  in  the  evening  to  the  Eagle. 

He  spent  the  next  day  in  visiting  the  college,  under  the 
guidance  of  Professor  Wheeler  ;  and,  for  the  two  or  three 
that  followed,  engagements  of  business  or  of  courtesy 
occupied  his  mind  and  time.  At  length,  however,  the 
changing  aspect  of  things  at  the  hotel  gave  indication  of 
great  events  about  to  occur.  Stages  arrived,  not  only 
of  the  primitive  form  which  has  been  described,  but 


THE   SLAVE -DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  95 

exhibiting  all  the  superiority  of  northern  manufacture ; 
while  private  conveyances,  from  the  carriage  to  the 
saddle-horse,  threw  clouds  of  dust  upon  the  road,  and 
gave  constant  employment  to  the  servants  of  the  Eagle 
Hotel.  Commencement  day  was  approaching,  and  it 
was  the  more  regarded,  as  the  rival  candidates  for  the 
office  of  representative  in  Congress  had  agreed  to  meet 
in  Tusculum  at  that  time,  and  give  to  the  scholarly 
gathering  something  of  the  fresh  interest  of  modern  life, 
by  a  debate  upon  the  principles  of  their  respective 
parties. 

The  hotel,  which  Stevens  had  found  comparatively 
deserted,  was  now  thronged  to  overflowing.  Our  young 
clergyman  was  at  first  requested  by  Witham  to  allow 
another  gentleman  to  share  his  bed :  when  night  came  he 
found  that  the  privilege  had  been  granted  to  a  third, 
without  the  formality  of  again  asking  his  consent ;  and 
morning  brought  into  the  room  two  others,  who,  having 
slept  in  some  unimagined  place,  claimed  a  partnership  in 
Stevens's  room  for  their  toilet  for  the  day.  Going  forth, 
not  very  well  pleased  with  this  proceeding,  he  found  dining- 
room  and  hall  thronged  with  sleeping  humanity.  Some 
on  cots,  and  some  on  the  floor,  the  votaries  of  Tusculan 
learning  or  of  Tusculan  politics  left  it  scarcely  possible 
for  the  traveller  to  emerge  into  the  daylight. 

He  lingered  on  the  piazza  till  many  of  the  sleepers 
came  forth,  and  it  was  filled  with  a  throng  of  men  of 
various  classes  in  society,  some  with  cigars  and  some 


96  HONOR',    OR, 

without,  amusing  themselves  with  whatever  might  occur. 
At  one  moment  the  means  of  entertainment  was  fur- 
nished by  the  editor  of  a  newspaper  in  a  neighboring  city, 
who  had  mystified  a  countryman  by  a  proposition  which 
we  will  let  him  express  in  his  own  words  :  — 

"  I  maintain,"  he  declared,  "  that  if  a  man  is  brought 
up  from  childhood  on  corn-bread,  cabbage,  and  ham,  and 
nothing  else,  he  will  be  nothing  else  than  corn-bread, 
cabbage,  and  ham." 

"  No,"  replied  the  countryman  ;  "  he  will  be  flesh  and 
blood  and  bones." 

"  But  that  flesh  and  blood  and  bone  will  be  nothing 
but  corn-bread,  cabbage,  and  ham,"  exclaimed  the  dispu- 
tant. "  The  man  has  eaten  nothing  but  that,  and  nothing 
but  that  is  in  him." 

A  roar  of  laughter  followed  this  argument,  while  the 
puzzled  countryman  declared  that  he  could  not  explain  it, 
but  really  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  man  would  not  be 
either  corn-bread,  or  cabbage,  or  ham. 

Our  clerical  friend  soon  had  occasion  to  perceive  that 
his  companions  were  as  fond  of  practical  jokes  as  of 
facetious  arguments.  Wishing  for  the  exercise  of  riding, 
he  had  applied  to  Witham  for  the  hire  of  a  horse  ;  and 
now,  in  obedience  to  his  call,  the  animal  was  led  out  in 
front  of  the  thronged  piazza.  It  was  a  shaggy  white 
beast,  not  much  larger  than  a  pony ;  and  as  the  intended 
equestrian  looked  from  it  to  the  amused  assembly,  and 
again  to  the  horse,  it  was  evident  that  some  one  had  been 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  97 

tampering  with  the  sable  groom  to  secure  a  little  sport  at 
the  stranger's  expense.  A  closer  look  assured  him  that 
the  saddle  had  been  merely  placed  on  the  animal's  back, 
and  not  secured  by  a  girth.  In  a  quiet  manner,  as  if  not 
suspecting  any  wrong  intention,  he  had  the  "  mistakes  " 
set  right,  and,  properly  mounted,  took  his  morning  ride. 

Unwilling  to  encounter,  on  his  return,  those  whose 
rudeness  had  prompted  such  treatment  of  an  unoffending 
stranger,  Mr.  Stevens  rode  around  the  house  in  search 
of  the  stables,  and  dismounted  there.  He  was  returning 
to  the  main  building,  when  his  attention  was  atracted  by 
the  sound  of  weeping  ;  and  turning  to  the  direction  from 
which  it  came,  he  saw,  by  the  grated  windows,  that  he 
was  in  the  vicinity  of  a  negro  jail. 

"  O,  what  shall  I  do?  "  were  the  words  he  caught,  in- 
terrupted by  sobs.  "What  shall  I  do?  Massa's  gone 
and  sold  me,  and  poor  Joe  don't  know  nothing  about  it. 
O  poor  Joe  !  when  he  come  next  time,  I  no  there  !  O 
poor  Joe,  poor  Joe  !  " 

Stevens  quickened  his  step  to  pass  the  jail,  but  this 
only  brought  him  nearer  to  it,  and  the  voice  he  next 
heard  kept  him  where  he  stood. 

"  Don't  cry,  Aunt  Sally ;  I'll  do  all  I  can  for  you. 
Perhaps  father  can  keep  you,  or  sell  you  here,  so  you 
won't  have  to  go  away.  O,  I  know  how  hard  it  is  to  go 
away  from  home  and  friends." 

"  Lord  bless  your  soul,  Miss  Betsy  ;  you  too  good  for 
dis  world  !  O,  please  don't  let  your  pa  sell  de  poor  nigger 
9 


98  HONOR;    OR, 

woman  dat  live  only  jes  next  door,  and  knowed  you  same 
as  you  was  her  own  folks  ;  please  don't  let  him  sell  her 
to  go  away  off  to  Texas.  O  poor  Joe,  poor  Joe  ! " 

The  young  minister  yielded  to  a  strong  impulse  to 
speak  a  word  of  comfort ;  pausing  at  the  window,  he 
said  emphatically,  "  Trust  in  God  ;  "  then  turned  away, 
and  went  toward  the  main  building.  "  Ah,"  said  he  to 
himself,  "  I  can  tell  her  to  trust ;  yet  God  suffers  these 
things  to  be,  and  I  know  there  is  but  little  hope." 

It  was  with  saddened  heart  that  he  prepared  himself 
to  witness  the  public  exercises  of  the  day.  They  were 
to  take  place  in  one  of  the  churches  of  the  village,  and 
to  this  Stevens  bent  his  way.  As  he  advanced,  he  saw 
the  procession  of  the  faculty,  students,  and  invited  guests 
issuing  from  the  college  grounds.  A  sign  from  Professor 
Wheeler  invited  him  to  join  it,  and  he  fell  into  the  ranks 
with  the  gentlemen  of  his  own  profession,  among  whom 
he  found  some  with  whom  he  was  slightly  acquainted. 

Stevens  had  wished  to  be  present  at  this  occasion,  to 
compare  the  aspect  of  a  southern  college  with  that  of 
the  northern  institution  where  he  had  himself  been  edu- 
cated ;  but  it  was  some  time  before  he  could  notice  any 
thing,  except  in  its  connection  with  what  he  had  over- 
heard in  the  morning.  The  prayer,  which  asked  God's 
blessing  on  the  exercises  and  those  who  engaged  in  them, 
seemed  to  him  to  rise  burdened  by  the  weight  of  the  guilt 
and  misery  around  ;  and  the  references  which  the  young 
orators  made,  in  glowing  language,  to  the  greatness  of 


THE   SLAVE -DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  99 

their  country,  "  the  home  of  freedom,  the  refuge  of  the 
oppressed,"  seemed  to  him  blind  self-deception  or  bitter 
mockery. 

As  he  recovered  his  self-possession,  he  could  not  but 
give  credit  to  the  young  men  before  him  for  a  degree  of 
natural  grace  and  ease  as  speakers,  which  compared  well 
with  his  own  college  companions.  He  noticed  among 
their  names  some  which  were  familiar  to  him  from  their 
connection  with  the  past  history  of  the  state  or  of  the 
nation  ;  and  he  saw  from  the  rank  which  these  held,  and 
from  their  appearance  in  the  exercises,  that  the  reputa- 
tion of  their  families  for  talent  was  not  likely  to  be 
impaired  in  them. 

"  At  the  North,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  the  first  scholar 
would  probably  be  some  youth  from  an  obscure  country 
village  —  one  who  had  his  fortune  to  make.  Here  it  is 
the  descendant  of  an  old  historical  family.  Is  it  because 
the  advantages  of  earlier  education  are  more  generally 
extended  there,  or  because  the  whole  spirit  of  southern 
institutions  is  more  aristocratic  ?  " 

The  last  oration  was  delivered  ;  the  band  pealed  forth 
their  music ;  the  president  addressed  the  graduating 
class,  counselling  them  to  consider  the  education  they 
had  received  as  only  preliminary  to  the  advance  they 
were  yet  to  make,  and  to  consecrate  all  advancement  to 
duty,  their  country,  and  their  Grod.  In  simple  form, 
without  square  cap  or  Latin  phrase,  the  degrees  were 
conferred ;  and  in  a  concluding  prayer  the  divine  bless- 


100  HONOR;    OB, 

ing  was  asked  on  those  who  now  went  forth  from  those 
quiet  shades  into  the  busy  world.  Mr.  Stevens,  accepting 
an  invitation  from  one  of  the  leading  men  of  the  state, 
found  himself  one  of  a  large  company,  and  apparently  the 
only  one  who  was  not  a  native.  A  few  remarks  were 
made  upon  the  literary  exercises  of  the  day  ;  but  this  sub- 
ject soon  gave  place  to  that  of  politics.  Among  the  gentle- 
men present  were  two  or  three  whose  dress  varied  from 
the  general  uniformity  of  black.  They  were  clad  in 
brown  homespun  cloth,  which  they  willingly  exhibited  to 
the  inspection  of  those  around  ;  and  much  admiration  was 
expressed  for  the  fineness  of  its  texture,  and  the  patriotic 
spirit  with  which  its  wearers  endeavored  to  encourage 
the  industry  of  their  own  state.  Stevens  could  not  fail 
to  perceive  —  what  was  indeed  by  no  means  new  to  him 
—  the  existence  of  a  deeply-seated  jealousy  of  northern 
enterprise,  and  dread  of  northern  influence.  His  own 
treatment,  however,  was  highly  courteous.  Some  curi- 
osity was  apparent  to  learn  the  impression  which  the 
commencement  exercises  had  made  upon  his  mind,  and 
those  who  spoke  with  him  were  gratified  to  find  that  it 
was  decidedly  favorable. 

Among  others  present  was  the  governor  of  the  state. 
His  conversation  with  the  young  stranger  turned  upon 
the  action  of  the  legislature  in  distributing  by  lottery  a 
large  territory  recently  obtained  from  its  Indian  own- 
ers. Stevens  remarked  that  in  the  North  such  an  ex- 
tensive acquisition  would  have  been  kept  as  a  source  of 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER? 8  \ 

public  wealth,  only  small  portions  being  disposed  of  at  a 
time. 

"  We  have  wished  to  dispose  of  it,"  said  the  governor. 
"  We  want  to  have  the  state  all  occupied.  So  long  as 
there  are  large  portions  of  unsettled  land,  our  people  will 
be  restless,  and  civilization  will  not  advance ;  but  when 
the  territory  is  generally  filled  up,  they  will  turn  their 
attention  more  to  the  arts  of  quiet  life." 

The  clergyman  ventured,  with  some  of  this  courteous 
company,  to  speak  of  the  Eagle  Hotel,  and  of  his  dis- 
covery of  the  morning.  What  he  said  was  received  with 
uneasiness,  and  replied  to  with  earnest  assurances  that 
such  things  were  not  the  genuine  marks  of  a  system,  but 
its  unavoidable  evils.  "  You  are  aware,"  said  one,  "that 
the  state  prohibits  the  importation  of  negroes  for  sale." 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  Stevens,  "  but  where  I  live  the 
negroes  are  brought  to  the  opposite  shore  of  the  river ; 
purchasers  have  but  to  cross  the  bridge  and  make  their 
bargains,  and  all  objection  to  the  importation  of  the  slave 
ceases." 

"  This  girl,"  said  their  entertainer,  "  must  be  a  slave 
of  Mr.  Johnson.  He  is  ruined  by  his  dissipated  habits, 
and  has  no  doubt  been  forced  to  sell  her  ;  and  if  I  am  not 
mistaken,  her  husband  is  on  a  plantation  adjoining  mine. 
I  will  see,  Mr.  Stevens,  what  can  be  done  to  prevent  her 
being  sent  away.  You  northern  people  must  not  think 
that  there  is  no  humanity  among  us." 

From  the  dinner  table  our  traveller  withdrew  early. 
9* 


'102  !  U*  ffOWQR;    OR, 

He  had  received  in  the  morning  from  a  student  a  notifi- 
cation of  his  election  as  an  honorary  member  of  one  of 
the  college  societies.  For  which  of  his  merits  this  com- 
pliment had  been  conferred,  he  was  yet  in  doubt ;  but  as 
a  meeting  of  the  body  in  question  was  announced  for 
three  o'clock,  he  turned  his  stepf  in  the  direction  indi- 
cated, and  soon  Qntered  the  hall  of  the  society. 

He  found  it  filled,  in  part  with  students  and  in  part 
with  visitors,  who,  he  had  reason  to  believe,  had  received 
a  similar  honor  to  his  own.  There  was  much  formality 
about  the  meeting,  and  a  greater  display  of  officers  and 
regulations  than  among  those  who  have  the  business  of 
mature  life  to  transact.  When  the  preliminaries  were 
completed,  the  president  of  the  society  made  a  speech, 
which  enlightened  Mr.  Stevens  as  to  the  reason  of  his 
membership.  But  when  Stevens  told  about  this  journey 
afterwards,  he  smiled  when  he  came  to  this  point,  and 
said  he  was  not  at  liberty  to  disclose  the  proceedings  of  a 
secret  society.  He  would  add  no  more,  but  that  he  liked 
the  Logomachian  Society  very  well,  and  wished  them  all 
success  in  their  honorable  rivalry  with  the  Philopolyglos- 
sian  Fraternity. 


THE  SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  103 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   EVIL  EVERY  WHERE. 

young  clergyman  found  the  hotel  nearly 
deserted  when  he  returned  to  it,  after  a  walk 
lx  around  the  village.  A  public  meeting,  at  which 
the  rival  politicians  were  to  present  their  views,  had 
drawn  to  it  alike  the  visitors  from  abroad  and  the  idlers 
of  the  place.  Not  disposed  to  join  them,  he  was  passing 
through  the  dining  hall  on  the  way  to  his  room,  when  he 
saw  there  the  daughter  of  his  host,  engaged  in  sewing, 
and  stopped  to  ask  if  she  had  been  present  at  the  com- 
mencement exercises. 

"  No,  sir,"  she  replied ;  "I  have  been  too  much  en- 
gaged, and  if  I  had  had  time,  should  have  had  little  spirit 
for  such  a  gathering.  You  know  about  poor  Sally." 

"  The  negro  woman  who  is  to  be  sold?  It  was  you, 
then,  that  I  heard  speaking  with  her  as  I  passed  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  and  you  cannot  think  hew  much  good  your 
few  words  did  to  the  poor  creature.  She  was  frightened 
at  first,  and  I  was  startled  to  hear  a  voice  so  unex- 
pectedly ;  but  it  seemed  to  us  the  more  to  be  a  message 


104  HONOR;    OB, 

from  above.  l  Trust  in  God ! '  O,  it  is  hard  to  do  so, 
among  so  many  trials  and  disappointments." 

"  You  speak  feelingly,  Miss  Witham.  You  sympathize 
deeply  with  your  poor  neighbor." 

"  I  do,  indeed,  sir.  She  has  lived  near  us  here  ;  and 
sometimes  when  mother  has  been  sick,  and  I  have  felt 
depressed,  that  poor  black  woman's  kind  word  has  given 
me  new  strength  to  do  what  I  ought." 

"  I  should  think  your  father,  then,  would  be  easily  per- 
suaded to  keep  her,  and  not  send  her  away,  as  she  seems 
to  fear  so  much." 

"  Father  cannot  afford  it.  He  only  bought  her  to  sell 
again,  and  must  do  so  to  pay  what  he  owes  for  her." 

"But  cannot  he  form  some  plan  to  keep  her  here? 
Cannot  you  persuade  him?" 

"  O,  I  wish  I  could,"  said  the  girl  with  tears.  "  But 
father  is  —  is  —  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  must  not  speak 
about  him." 

"  Why,  he  loves  you,  certainly.  He  has  taken  great 
pains  in  your  education,  I  should  judge." 

A  burst  of  tears  was  her  only  reply.  Stevens  was 
embarrassed,  not  less  than  affected.  But  believing  he 
understood  the  cause  of  her  grief,  and  that  it  was  a  cause 
which  she  ought  to  control,  he  spoke,  when  she  was 
somewhat  recovered,  with  kind  seriousness. 

"  I  judge  from  your  style  of  language  and  thought, 
that  you  have  been  educated  at  some  excellent  school, 
and  probably  at  the  North.  Now,  if  so,  it  must  be 


THE   SLAVE -DEALER'S   DAUGHTER  105 

hard  for  you,  I  know,  to  come  from  such  company  as 
you  there  enjoyed,  to  this  hotel,  and  its  daily  round  of 
dull  cares,  and  even  of  low  life.  But,  my  dear  young 
lady,  these  common  cares  of  life  are  God's  appointment 
to  us." 

"  I  feel  them  to  be  such." 

"  And  I  hope  you  will  feel,  too,  that  the  friends  God 
has  given  us  are  to  be  cherished  and  valued  according 
to  his  appointment.  Try  not  to  think  of  your  father's 
faults ;  whatever  they  are,  they  proceed  from  a  cause 
which  is,  alas !  sadly  common  throughout  the  land. 
How  many  daughters  have  fathers  who  indulge  this 
appetite  for  drink !  If  any  thing  can  wean  him  away 
from  it,  it  will  be  your  love.  Do  not  look  down  on  him 
who  gave  you  life,  and  who  has  taken,  it  is  plain,  such 
admirable  care  of  you.  It  may  have  been  ill-judged  for 
him  to  educate  you  above  the  station  he  could  place  you 
in ;  but  as  for  your  sake  he  has  spared  no  expense,  and 
even  denied  himself  your  loved  society " 

"  O,  sir,"  said  the  weeping  girl,  "  how  little  you 

know "  She  controlled  her  emotion  by  a  strong 

effort,  and  continued,  after  a  brief  pause,  — 

"  It  is  due  to  myself,  sir,  that  I  should  tell  you  some- 
thing of  my  past  history.  My  parents  were  English 
people  ;  my  mother  died  in  extreme  poverty,  in  a  village 
in  New  England,  where  my  father  had  left  her.  Neither 
she  nor  any  one  knew  where  he  had  gone.  I  was  taken 
by  an  excellent  family,  and  brought  up  as  their  own. 


106  HONOR',    O2t> 

My  father  came  back  after  a  year  or  two,  but  was  satis- 
fied to  leave  me  with  such  good  friends  ;  and  I  saw  but 
little  of  him  till  I  was  sixteen,  when  he  came  and 
claimed  me.  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  go  with  him,  and 
I  try  to  love  and  honor  him  as  I  ought ;  but,  but  — 
O,  I  can't  speak  of  it ; "  and  her  self-control  gave  way 
again. 

Here  a  female  voice  was  heard  calling  "  Betsy."  The 
girl  started,  and  withdrew  hastily  to  an  inner  room.  The 
minister  remained  a  few  moments  lost  in  thought.  Then, 
heaving  a  deep  sigh,  he  said  aloud,  "  Well,  it  is  idle  to 
grieve  over  troubles  that  I  cannot  mend.  What  shall  I 
do  to  change  these  sad  thoughts  ?  The  political  meeting  ? 
No,  it  is  almost  over,  probably ;  and  if  not,  what  do  I 
care  about  it  ?  Another  walk  ?  No  ;  I  am  tired.  Can't 
I  write  a  letter  ?  The  huge  inkstand  at  the  bar  can  be 
borrowed,  I  suppose."  Before  many  minutes  had  passed, 
he  was  engaged  in  describing  the  Tusculan  commence- 
ment. He  had  not  made  much  progress,  however,  when 
he  heard  the  voices  and  the  tread  of  many  persons 
returning  from  the  political  meeting  ;  and  when  some  of 
his  numerous  room-mates  entered,  he  yielded  to  necessity, 
and  postponed  the  completion  of  his  letter  to  a  more 
favorable  time. 

The  next  day  Mr.»Stevens  received  a  visit  from  the 
gentleman  at  whose  house  he  had  dined.  They  con- 
versed at  first  upon  the  literary  and  political  gatherings 
which  had  taken  place ;  but  the  visitor  appeared  grave, 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  107 

and  the  young  minister  found  that  the  burden  of  the 
conversation  rested  principally  on  himself.  At  length, 
however,  with  a  sudden  effort,  Colonel  Selwyn  relieved 
his  mind  of  the  weight  which  was  upon  it. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  he,  "I  never  like  to  limit  the 
freedom  of  discussion  in  my  own  house ;  but  you  must 
be  aware  that  on  one  subject  we  are  very  sensitive.  I 
regret  the  existence  of  slavery.  I  wish  the  blacks  were 
all  across  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  or  beneath  it,  I  hardly 
care  which.  But  here  they  are,  and  we  must  be  their 
masters,  or  they  will  be  ours." 

*'  I  am  aware,"  said  Stevens,  "  of  the  difficulties  that 
embarrass  the  subject.  I  know  it  will  not  do  to  discuss 
it  in  public,  where  the  blacks  might  hear." 

"  In  public !  Certainly  not.  The  next  thing  would 
be  a  negro  insurrection,  with  all  its  unimaginable  hor- 
rors. The  safety  of  our  homes,  the  lives  of  our  wives 
and  children,  depend  on  our  peremptorily  putting  down 
all  agitation  on  the  subject." 

"  And  yet,  sir,  I  have  been  surprised,  sometimes,  at 
the  freedom  with  which  Southerners  themselves  would 
speak  upon  it,  seated  at  table,  and  with  their  slaves 
standing  behind  their  chairs." 

"  Well,  we  can  do  as  we  please,  and  I  suppose  we  are 
careless  sometimes.  Probably  every  master  thinks  his 
own  slaves  can  be  trusted.  You  have  no  idea,  sir, 
of  the  attachment  of  these  people.  I  would  far  rather 
sleep  with  my  door  unbolted  on  my  plantation,  than  in 
the  best  hotel  in  any  northern  city." 


108  HONOR;    OR, 

Stevens  smiled  slightly  at  the  contrast  of  this  great 
security  with  the  fear  just  before  expressed.  "  I  should 
be  sorry,"  said  he,  "  to  have  said  any  thing  to  offend 
those  by  whom  I  was  received  so  kindly." 

"  O,  you  may  be  assured  there  was  no  offence.  Only 
I  would  caution  you  that  the  same  language  would  not 
do  in  all  companies.  The  present,  too,  is  an  unfortunate 
time.  Here  are  our  fiery  Carolina  neighbors  ready  to 
leave  the  Union,  if  they  can  but  get  a  few  other  states  to 
join  them.  They  profess  that  it  is  all  on  account  of  the 
tariff;  but  depend  upon  it,  sir,  slavery  is  at  the  bottom  of 
it  all." 

"  But  why  so,  sir?  The  abolitionists,  from  all  that  I 
hear  of  them,  are  a  very  small,  and  very  unimportant 
party  at  the  North.  Nay,  I  believe  their  best  men  are 
opposed  to  their  being  a  party  at  all,  and  think  they 
can  work  better  by  moral  suasion  than  by  political 
control." 

"  As  for  any  thing  that  they  can  do,  we  may  well 
despise  it.  We  are  not  afraid  of  northern  emissaries 
among  us,  though,  if  we  caught  them,  we  should  deal 
with  them  in  a  pretty  summary  manner.  But  I  will  tell 
you  where  our  danger  lies.  Every  year,  thousands  of  our 
people  go  to  the  North,  some  for  business  and  some  for 
pleasure.  Now,  though  you  have  few  avowed  abolition- 
ists, the  whole  feeling  of  your  people  is  against  slavery. 
Our  young  men  meet  it  in  your  colleges,  our  merchants 
in  your  cities,  and  our  pleasure-seekers  at  Newport  and 


THE   SLAVE- DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  109 

Saratoga.  If  they  adopt  that  feeling,  and  bring  it  back, 
we  have  the  evil  of  anti-slavery  introduced  among  our- 
selves. Now,  all  we  can  do  to  prevent  this  is  to  break 
off  intercourse ;  and  that  can  only  be  done  by  dividing 
the  Union.  This  is  the  way  our  Nullifiers  reason.  For 
myself,  I  am  a  Union  man." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Stevens,  "  the  subject  is  beyond 
any  human  management ;  but  at  least  we  can  do  some- 
thing at  times  to  alleviate  the  suffering  it  brings." 

"  You  are  right,  sir  ;  and  that  is  what  I  want  to  do  in  the 
case  you  spoke  of.  In  fact,  I  have  seen  Witham  already 
about  it.  He  puts  a  high  price  on  the  girl  —  higher  than 
I  can  well  afford  to  pay  —  because  he  thinks  he  can  com- 
mand more  by  selling  her  to  Texas.  But  I  think  I  shall 
effect  it.  He  is  too  old  and  too  dissipated  to  travel  him- 
self with  his  merchandise,  as  he  used  to  ;  and  I  fancy  that 
pretty  daughter  of  his  has  made  him  a  little  ashamed  of 
the  business.  If  I  can  buy  Sally,  the  man  she  calls  her 
husband  lives  on  the  next  plantation  to  mine ;  and,  so 
long  as  they  like  one  another,  I  shall  not  interfere." 

"  Then  you  think  they  are  not  really  married?" 

"  O,  married,  as  far  as  they  can  be.  Some  Methodist 
exhorter  joined  their  hands,  I  suppose.  But  that  sort  of 
marriage  they  are  continually  breaking  up,  to  form  new 
ones.  Your  northern  people  think  a  great  deal  of  our 
separating  families  ;  but  in  fact  the  families  would  not 
stay  together  if  we  let  them." 

"  Is  not  that  itself,  sir,  a  consequence  of  the  system? 
10 


110 


HONOR;    OR, 


Seeing  that  their  marriages  may  be  broken  up  at  any 
time  by  their  masters'  will,  they  learn  to  regard  them  as 
of  little  obligation." 

"  May  be  so — may  be  so  ;  but  as  you  and  I  can't  help 
the  system,  suppose  we  go  and  help  this  poor  woman,  if 
we  can.  She'll  do  better  on  my  plantation  than  in  With- 
am's  jail ;  and,  as  for  her  husband,  she  may  have  him 
till  they  get  sick  of  each  other." 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  HI 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


THE    GOLD    REGION. 


PART  OF  A  LETTER. 


WAS  interrupted  at  the  last  sentence,  and  have 
let  a  fortnight  pass  before  continuing.  Mean- 
time I  have  been  wandering  about  among  the 
mountains  and  gold  mines  of  Upper  Georgia  ;  and  you,  I 
trust,  have  had  all  success  on  that  mysterious  errand 
which  has  carried  you  to  the  place  with  the  learned  name. 
Whatever  the  attraction  was  to  Xenophon,  may'  you,  in 
finding  it,  have  realized  your  best  hopes.  I,  too,  have 
had  my  visions  of  beauty.  But  no,  the  matter  is  too 
serious  for  jesting.  Let  me  tell  you  something  of  my 
travels. 

I  continued  my  journey  from  Tusculum  on  horseback. 
Shall  I  tell  you  how  I  purchased  a  horse,  and,  with  the 
assistance  of  a  kind  friend,  escaped  being  taken  in  ?  No  ; 
for  you  will  not  believe  the  assertion.  Shall  I  tell  you 
of  my  undertaking  to  ford  a  wide  river,  and  unexpectedly 


112  HONOR;    OR, 

finding  that  my  horse  was  swimming  ?  There  had  been 
a  freshet,  which  I  had  not  counted  on ;  so,  as  the  river 
came  in  the  way  of  the  road,  in  I  went.  When  my  steed 
got  off  his  legs,  I  was  a  little  startled  ;  but  he  seemed  to 
know  what  he  was  about,  and  I  left  the  matter  to  him  ; 
so  he  brought  me  over  in  safety. 

This  stream  was  the  boundary  of  the  region  acquired 
a  few  years  ago  from  the  Indians,  and  which  has  since 
been  rapidly  settled  on  account  of  its  mineral  wealth.  It 
was  not  long  after  my  aquatic  experience  that  I  entered 
the  mining  town  of  Orville.  I  wish  it  was  possible  to  de- 
scribe to  you  its  appearance.  The  street  was  as  thickly 
set  with  houses  at  its  sides  as  with  mud  in  its  travelled 
portion ;  but  such  houses  !  Booths  would  be  the  more 
proper  name.  They  were  built  extempore,  some  with 
boards  placed  vertically,  braced  together  by  a  few  that 
crossed  them,  so  that  they  looked  like  great  square  hogs- 
heads, if  a  hogshead  could  be  square.  In  others,  the 
boards  or  slabs  were  horizontal.  Paint  was  absent,  and 
whitewash  was  infrequent ;  but  amid  the  scene,  two 
regular  frame-houses,  partly  built,  looked  gigantic  and 
palatial  by  the  contrast,  and  gave  hint  of  what  Orville  is 
to  be.  As  to  the  state  of  society  here,  it  may  be  inferred 
from  such  anecdotes  as  this:  A  Methodist  preacher 
came  along,  in  the  excellent  spirit  of  that  sect,  —  Heaven 
bless  them  for  it,  though  I  don't  like  all  their  ways,  —  and 
preached  one  Sunday  in  whatever  hovel  answers  the  pur- 
pose of  their  grand  assembly  room.  At  the  conclusion 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  113 

of  his  services,  when  he  had  appointed  another  meeting 
for  the  evening,  one  of  the  audience  rose,  and  gave  no- 
tice that  there  would  be  a  game  at  shuffle-board,  at  the 
same  time,  in  the  street  in  front  —  an  announcement  which 
was  received  with  a  storm  of  laughter  and  applause. 

In  this  vicinity  I  spent  several  days,  visiting  the  dwell- 
ings of  some  with  whom  I  had  been  acquainted,  or  be- 
came so  ;  and,  so  used  was  I  at  length  to  the  rough  log- 
cabins,  which  these  settlers  for  the  most  part  inhabit, 
that  when  I  saw  at  last  a  log-house,  with  the  interior 
whitewashed,  —  cleats  of  wood  having  been  previously 
nailed  over  the  interstices  to  keep  out  the  wind,  —  it  ap- 
peared to  me  absolutely  stylish,  by  its  contrast  to  the  rest. 

An  object  of  much  interest  to  me  was  to  visit  the  gold 
mines.  I  went  to  several,  and  saw  the  process  of  obtain- 
ing gold,  from  the  simplest  form  to  those  more  compli- 
cated. The  first  who  settled  in  the  gold  region  used 
nothing  more  than  a  pan,  in  which  they  washed  the 
gravel  by  the  banks  of  streams,  throwing  out  the  con- 
tents of  the  pan  by  degrees,  till  at  last  some  grains  of 
the  metal  would  be  discovered  mingled  with  sand  in  the 
bottom  of  the  pan.  These  would  be  then  taken  into  com- 
bination by  quicksilver,  forming  a  little  button  of  the 
amalgamated  metals.  The  process  now  generally  in  use 
is  an  advance  on  this,  being  that  of  rocking  the  gravel  in 
a  sort  of  slanting  cradle,  through  which  a  stream  of 
water  is  constantly  made  to  pass.  The  water  washes  off 
the  earthy  particles,  while  the  gold,  sinking  by  its  greater 
10* 


114  HONOR;   OR, 

weight,  is  detained  by  bars  nailed  across  the  bottom  of 
the  cradle. 

I  visited,  however,  some  places  where  the  work  was 
undertaken  on  a  larger  scale.  In  one,  the  gold  is  sought 
partly  by  rocking,  as  I  have  just  described,  the  gravel 
being  obtained  from  the  borders  of  a  stream.  Elsewhere, 
on  the  same  estate,  literal  mining  had  been  carried  on 
extensively,  but  thus  far  with  no  profitable  result.  Here 
was  a  hill,  that  had  been  perforated  from  side  to  side,  and 
the  work  upon  it  abandoned ;  there  lay  the  wreck  of  a 
steam  machine  that  had  proved  unserviceable.  At  the 
time  of  our  visit,  the  object  of  labor  was  to  sink  a  shaft 
deep  enough  to  strike  upon  a  vein  of  gold,  which,  from 
the  dip  of  the  strata,  was  thought  to  lie  beneath.  But 
the  work  had  been  stopped  half  way  by  the  bursting  in  of 
water  ;  and  this  was  to  be  drained  off  by  means  of  ropes 
and  buckets,  before  the  labor  on  the  mine  could  be  re- 
sumed. We  left,  foretelling  that  the  owner  would  use  up 
on  his  profitless  hill  mine  more  than  the  results  of  his 
very  profitable  surface  mine. 

Not  much  more  promising  for  immediate  success  was 
another  which  we  visited,  where  a  large  gang  of  laborers 
were  penetrating  a  rock,  within  which,  it  was  supposed, 
lay  a  vein  of  gold.  Tons  of  the  broken  rocks  lay  around, 
and  from  these,  if  there  were  steam  power  at  hand  to 
crush  them,  we  were  told  that  immense  sums  might  have 
been  obtained.  At  this  place  we  asked  the  overseer  if 
we  could  purchase  any  specimens  of  the  ore.  He  replied 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  115 

that  he  had  none  himself  to  dispose  of,  —  for  if  any  of 
value  were  found,  the  negroes  concealed  them.  "  But," 
said  he,  "if  you  ask  that  fellow  when  I  am  out  of  the 
way,  I  dare  say  he  will  be  able  to  let  you  have  some." 
We  laughed  at  his  putting  us  in  the  way  of  eluding  his 
own  vigilance,  and  obtained  some  little  specimens,  in  the 
manner  indicated,  without  much  difficulty. 

This  region  may  be  considered  as  the  gradual  descent, 
towards  the  south  of  the  great  Alleghany  chain.  I  can- 
not say  that  I  think  its  scenery  much  improved  by  the 
log-cabins  of  the  settlers,  and  the  muddy  work  which  de- 
files every  stream  whose  gravel  is  thought  to  contain 
gold.  But,  if  one  can  get  a  little  way  off  from  the  set- 
tlers, he  will  find  sights  among  these  hills  that  possess  a 
beauty  and  a  grandeur  all  their  own.  Such  was  the 
scene  I  witnessed  from  the  summit  of  the  Currahee  Moun- 
tain, a  conical  hill  to  the  south  of  the  gold  region,  up 
which  I  rode  with  a  party  of  friends.  Far  and  wide, 
east,  south,  and  west,  stretched  below  us,  apparently  to  the 
very  horizon,  an  unbroken  forest.  The  clearings  were  so 
slight,  in  comparison  with  the  vast  space  uncleared,  that 
they  passed  unnoticed ;  and  the  minor  elevations .  were 
lost,  from  the  superior  height  of  that  on  which  we  were. 
It  seemed  a  perfect  level,  a  green  ocean,  blending  with 
the  sky.  Another  spot  to  be  remembered  was  the  won- 
drous ravine  of  Tallulah  Falls,  where,  stretched  on  the 
rock  called  the  Devil's  Pulpit,  and  looking  over,  we  saw 
an  eagle  cleaving  the  air  half  way  beneath  us,  while  the 


116  HONOR;   OB, 

forest  lay  far  below  his  flight ;  then,  raising  our  eyes, 
we  mused  whether  mortal  foot  had  ever  trod  that  cavern 
among  the  rocks  far  off  upon  the  other  side.  But  O, 
Toccoa,  pure,  beautiful  cascade,  thou  art  my  favorite ! 
I  was  told  this  fall  was  hardly  worth  seeing  after  Tallu- 
lah,  on  account  of  its  small  volume  of  water  ;  and  should 
not  have  visited  it,  but  that  it  lay  nearly  in  my  way.  So 
I  rode  on  alone,  with  my  thoughts  on  far  distant  scenes, 
when,  suddenly,  raising  my  eyes,  I  saw,  above  the  tops 
of  the  trees,  a  cliff  with  a  veil  of  woven  rain-drops  thrown 
across  its  rugged  face.  I  threaded  the  forest  path,  and 
soon  stood  beside  the  lakelet  into  which  that  veil  de- 
scends ;  and  there  I  dismounted,  and  lingered,  I  know  not 
how  long,  looking  at  the  gigantic  rock,  the  lovely  stream, 
and  the  shrubs  that  grew  so  daringly,  as  it  seemed,  in 
the  very  path  of  the  descending  waters.  There  is  a  wild 
Indian  legend  connected  with  this  place,  that  a  woman 
betrayed  a  portion  of  a  hostile  tribe  to  death,  by  leading 
them,  in  single  file,  through  the  woods  to  the  precipice 
above,  on  which  they  came  so  suddenly  that  they  fell  over 
in  succession,  their  screams  of  terror  being  lost,  to  those 
who  followed,  in  the  roar  of  the  cataract. 

But  I  must  close.  How  much  I  have  yet  to  tell  you  ! 
I  had  not  half  finished  even  about  the  college,  when 
those  politicians  came  in  upon  me,  with  their  State  Rights 
and  Nullification.  But  you  shall  hear  all  about  it,  when 
you  come  to  my  bachelor-home  on  your  return ;  and  I 
know  not  but  I  shall  tempt  you  to  follow  my  steps,  when 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  H7 

I  have  told  you  the  touching  story  of  my  landlord  Willi- 
am's daughter.  Poor  girl,  poor  girl !  Well,  for  details 
you  must  wait  till  we  meet.  Till  then,  farewell,  with 
every  good  wish,  from 

Your  friend  and  chum, 

GEORGE  V.  STEVENS. 

To  FREDERICK  W.  BRYANT,  Esq., 
New  Orleans,  La. 


118  HONOR;   OB, 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

HASTY  AND  INCAUTIOUS. 

T  so  happened  that  Mr.  Bryant,  when  he  received 
his  friend's  letter  in  New  Orleans,  looked  first  at 
the  last  page,  on  which,  in  those  days  when  sep- 
arate envelopes  were  not,  the  direction  was  written. 
There  he  saw,  written  across  the  page,  some  words  on 
the  subject  upon  which,  most  of  all,  he  desired  informa- 
tion. A  part  had  been  covered  by  the  seal ;  but  enough 
was  legible  to  show  that  his  friend  knew  where  Witham 
lived,  and  to  excite  the  most  painful  feelings  for  the  un- 
known trials  which  his  daughter  had  had  to  encounter. 
"  Why  has  not  she  written  !  "  said  Bryant  to  himself,  as 
he  hastily  closed  the  letter,  and  made  his  escape  from 
the  hotel  reading-room,  where  he  had  opened  it,  lest  his 
agitation  should  be  perceived.  "  Fool  that  I  was,  why 
did  I  not  let  Stevens  know  of  whom  I  was  in  search  ?  But 
thank  God,  I  am  on  the  track  at  last."  A  hasty  perusal 
of  the  letter  showed  that  this  sentence  was  all  that  it  con- 
tained upon  the  subject ;  and  before  evening  the  young 
man  was  on  the  way  to  Royalton,  where  his  friend  re- 
sided. 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  119 

When,  several  days  afterwards,  the  commodious  stage- 
coach, which  had  now  taken  the  place  of  the  lamented 
"  old  line,"  rolled  into  the  broad  Main  Street  of  that 
pretty  town,  and  stopped  before  a  handsome  hotel,  Bry- 
ant eagerly  inquired  for  a  conveyance  to  the  lodgings  of 
his  friend,  and  was  soon  on  his  way  to  the  summer  sub- 
urb, where  those  citizens  of  Royalton,  who  did  not  visit 
the  North  during  the  summer  months,  took  refuge  when 
they  could  from  the  dust  and  the  mosquitoes  of  the  city. 
Past  the  double  rows  of  Pride-of-China  trees ;  past  the 
upper  market-house,  which  looked  down  the  street  to 
front  its  southern  counterpart ;  past  the  dry  channel  called 
the  Beaver  Dam,  filled  with  cypress  trees,  whose  roots 
bulged  forth  into  those  strange  excrescences  called  cypress 
knees,  well  known  to  southern  ship-builders ;  past  the 
long  ascent  of  the  hill,  —  he  came  at  length  to  a  wood  laid 
out  in  streets,  as  few  as  possible  of  the  trees  being  re- 
moved, to  make  way  for  the  neat  houses  that  sheltered 
themselves  beneath  the  branches  of  those  that  remained. 
A  turn  of  the  road  brought  him  in  sight  of  the  fair  front 
of  the  United  States  Arsenal,  which  he  had  visited  with 
his  friend,  examining  curiously  the  block-house  in  the 
centre  of  its  quadrangle,  its  substantial  timbers  pierced 
for  musketry,  in  preparation  to  meet  the  threats  of  Nulli- 
fication. At  length  the  barouche  drew  up  before  a  house 
among  the  trees,  and,  bidding  his  colored  driver  remain 
for  a  time,  Bryant  rang  at  the  door,  and  was  shown  into 
the  study  of  his  friend. 


120  HONOR;    OR, 

"  Why,  Fred,  how  came  you  here?  And  how  strange 
you  look  !  What  has  happened  ?  "  said  the  clergyman, 
his  first  feeling  of  pleasure  giving  way  to  alarm. 

Fred  had  seemed  to  his  fellow-passengers  from  New 
Orleans  the  coldest  of  human  beings.  He  had  scarce 
spoken  to  them,  or  noticed  when  they  spoke  to  him ;  and 
the  negro  who  drove  him  from  the  hotel  had  mentally 
contrasted  the  Yankee's  reserve  with  the  condescending 
manners  of  some  of  his  southern  young  masters.  One 
thought  had  engrossed  the  traveller's  mind,  one  intense 
anxiety ;  and  now,  when  that  was  either  to  be  relieved, 
or  rendered  still  more  painful,  he  turned  deadly  pale,  and 
seemed  scarcely  able  to  support  himself.  Taking  a  chair, 
and  trying  to  speak  with  composure,  he  said,  — 

"  You  wrote  about  a  man  named  Witham,  and  the 
sad  story  of  his  daughter.  Is  she  living  ?  What  do  you 
know  about  them  ?  " 

"  Witham,"  said  the  minister ;  "  what,  the  tavern- 
keeper  at  Tusculum  !  The  drunken  brute  !  What  can 
you  know,  or  care,  about  him  ?  " 

"  That  was  the  place  then?  But  about  Lizzie  :  what 
did  you  hear  of  her,  that  made  you  write  that  her  story 
was  so  touching?" 

"  My  dear  Fred,  don't  look  so  utterly  distracted " 

"  Do,  Stevens,  answer  my  questions." 

"  Why,  don't  get  out  of  temper,  man." 

"  0,  George,  you  can't  think  what  this  is  to  me." 

"  I  can  think  it  well  enough,  you  bear  of  a  lover. 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER  121 

Nothing  but  Cupid  could  make  Fred  Bryant  lose  his 
good  manners.  But  I'll  put  you  out  of  your  pain,  to 
some  extent,  at  least.  The  daughter,  whose  name  is  not 
Lizzie,  but  Betsy,  as  I  can  tell  from  hearing  her  called 
by  the  voice  of  a  she-dragon  —  I  wish  you  joy,  Fred,  of 
your  father  and  mother-in-law  !  " 

"  Never  mind,  George,  only  tell  me  about  her.  She  is 
living  with  them  yet  then,  and  the  fellow  is  keeping  tav- 
ern in  that  Tusculum  ?  " 

"  Tavern,  with  a  little  sprinkling  of  jail,  besides.  He 
deals  in  his  fellow-creatures,  in  a  small  way.  For  pity's 
sake,  Bryant,  if  you  have  done  any  thing  so  crazy  as  to 
fall  in  love  with  such  a  man's  daughter,  get  over  it  as 
soon  as  you  can.  Remember  your  family,  —  your  edu- 
cation, —  what  society  expects  of  you " 

"  You  do  not  know,  George,  that  she  is  the  adopted 
daughter  of  one  of  the  best  and  most  respectable  families 
in  my  native  town  ;  and  the  only  reason  she  is  with  this 
brute  of  a  father,  is  her  .heroic  sense  o£  dutyT\  But  as  to 
marrying  her,  that  is  not  the  question.  If  she  is  in  suf- 
fering, or  in  danger,  I  must  protect  her.  Tell  me,  —  I 
say  again,  forgive  my  excitement,  —  but  tell  me  all  you 
know  about  her,  and  those  that  she  is  with." 

Thus  appealed  to,  Mr.  Stevens  gave  an  account  to  his 
friend  of  what  he  had  seen  and  heard  while  at  Tusculum, 
in  which  Witham's  daughter  was  concerned  ;  and,  when 
Bryant  left  him,  refusing  his  hospitable  invitations  on  the 
ground  of  want  of  time,  he  went,  provided  with  letters  of 
11 


122  HONOR;    OR, 

cordial  recommendation  to  Professor  Wheeler  of  the  col- 
lege, and  to  Colonel  Selwyn,  the  gentleman  who  had  bought 
the  slave  Sarah,  to  prevent  her  from  being  sold  away 
from  her  husband.  Bryant  had  already,  with  great  sat- 
isfaction, learned  that  Tusculum  was  the  residence  of 
Judge  Hendrick,  a  gentleman  who,  when  visiting  the 
North,  had  been  the  guest  of  his  uncle,  and  had  taken  an 
interest  in  Frederick  himself  as  a  schoolboy. 

"  Ah,  my  friend,"  said  he,  as  he  returned  to  the  gate, 
and  found  the  negro  driver  dozing  on  the  front  seat  of 
the  carriage,  "  I've  kept  you  so  long  that  you  had  to 
go  to  sleep?  Well,  never  mind,  since  the  horses  have 
not  run  away  with  you.  I  should  have  been  sorry  to 
have  had  your  neck  broken  in  my  service." 

u  Horse  no  run  when  I'm  on  de  box,  massa,"  said 
the  man,  "  I  wake  up  right  easy."  In  his  mind,  he 
added,  "  Someting  wake  massa  up  too,  I  reckon.  He 
done  said  more  now  dan  de  whole  ride  before.  Dese 
Yankees  strange  folks." 

"  Do  the  people  all  move  away  from  here  after  sum- 
mer is  over  ?  "  said  Bryant. 

"  Most  ob  'em  do,  but  dere's  some  stay  out  at  de  Sand 
Hills  all  de  year  roun'." 

"  I  should  think  it  the  pleasantest  way,  John.  That's 
your  name,  isn't  it?  I  think  I  heard  them  call  you  John." 

"  No,  no,  massa  ;   my  name's  Toussaint." 

u  Toussaint !  Strange  they  should  give  such  a  name 
as  that !  Do  you  know  who  Toussaint  was  ?  " 


THE    SLAVE -DE ALERTS   DAUGHTER.  123 

"  No,  massa,  I  didn't  know  it  was  a  man  at  all.  De 
massas  names  us  niggers  after  most  any  ting  comes  to 
hand." 

"  Well,  they  named  you  after  the  greatest  man  of  your 
race,  and  one  of  its  best  men  too,  I  fancy ;  but  he  had  a 
sad  fate ; "  and,  talking  rather  to  himself  than  to  the 
negro,  he  repeated  the  first  lines  of  Wordsworth's  sonnet ; 

" '  Toussaint,  thou  most  unhappy  man  of  men  ! ' " 

"  Wha'  for  dey  use  him  so,  massa?"  asked  the  driver. 

"  He  led  the  slaves  of  St.  Domingo  in  an  insurrection 
against  the  whites  ;  and  the  whites  afterwards  took  him 
prisoner,  and  carried  him  to  a  cold  country,  where  they 
kept  him  shut  up  in  a  very  cold,  damp  prison,  till  he  died." 

"  Did  Samingo  do  dat  to  him?  " 

"Who?" 

"  Massa  say,  Toussaint  led  de  slaves  ob  Samingo." 

"  O,  Saint  Domingo.  That  was  the  name  of  the 
island — the  country  I  mean — where  Toussaint  lived.  The 
person  that  shut  up  Toussaint  was  Bonaparte  —  Napo- 
leon Bonaparte.  You  have  heard  of  him,  haven't  you  ?  " 

"  Tink  so,"  said  the  slave,  dubiously  ;  and  added,  with 
a  furtive  look  at  his  passenger,  "  I  reckon  massa'd  have 
stood  by  Toussaint  when  he  done  make  dat  resurrection. 
Massa  wouldn't  have  seen  'em  use  him  so." 

"  No,  I  hate  to  see  a  brave  man  oppressed." 

"  Maybe  massa'd  stand  by  de  brack  men  now,  if 
dey'd  make  a  resurrection,  jes'  like  in  Samingo." 


124  HONOEi    OR, 

"  What !  "  said  Bryant,  suddenly  aware  of  the  danger- 
ous nature  of  his  conversation.  "  No  ;  it  would  be  mad- 
ness and  wickedness  both.  The  whites  are  so  much 
stronger,  it  would  be  impossible  to  succeed;  and  it 
would  be  only  filling  the  land  with  murder  and  rapine  to 
no  purpose.  My  good  fellow,  I  ought  not  to  have  told 
you  about  Toussaint  at  all ;  but  don't  speak  to  any  one 
of  what  I  said  to  you  ;  don't  think  of  it  yourself.  If  you 
tried  to  do  any  thing  against  the  white  people,  they 
would  not  treat  you  as  Bonaparte  did  your  namesake, 
but  they'd  hang  you  right  off." 

"  Reckon  massa's  'bout  right,"  said  the  driver. 
"  Massa,  please  not  tell  ole  massa  at  de  hotel ;  for  he  no 
like  to  have  his  niggers  talk  bout  sich  tings." 

Placed  on  his  guard  by  this  conversation,  Bryant  was 
silent  the  remainder  of  the  way.  Toussaint,  as  he  put 
up  his  horses,  said  to  the  driver  of  the  stage  to  Tuscu- 
lum,  — 

"  Queer  buckra  man  dat  I  druv  out  to  de  Sand  Hills. 
He  talk  'bout  slaves  making  a  resurrection ;  —  tell  dis 
nigger  he  named  after  Toussaint,  what  done  make  him  in 
Samingo." 

"  Hush  up,  you  fool ;  you  want  ole  massa  gib  you  de 
raw-hide?  Your  mammy  name  you  Two-cent,  cause 
dat  all  you  bring  when  dey  sell  you." 


THE   SLAVE -DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  125 


CHAPTER    XV. 

THE  TAVEKN  AND  ITS  INMATES. 

T  had  been  Bryant's  intention,  on  arriving  at 
Tusculum,  to  consult  Judge  Hendrick  and  the 
acquaintances  of  his  friend  Stevens,  before  mak- 
ing any  attempt  to  approach  either  Lizzie  or  her  father. 
For  this  purpose  he  would  have  preferred  not  to  enter  the 
hotel,  and  looked  round  among  his  fellow-passengers  to 
see  if  there  was  any  whom  he  could  request  to  have  an 
eye  to  the  safety  of  his  baggage.  But  the  gentleman 
was  too  old  and  grave  for  him  to  take  that  liberty ;  the 
boy  was  too  young ;  the  two  ladies  were  out  of  the 
question ;  and  the  other  passenger  had  drunk  at  every 
resting-place,  and  mixed  his  conversation  with  words  as 
strong  as  his  beverage.  Frederick  thought  too  that  the 
endeavor  to  avoid  observation,  if  too  carefully  made, 
might  rather  tend  to  attract  it,  and  consequently  entered 
the  house  with  the  others,  hoping  that  either  he  might 
not  meet  Witham,  or  that  the  slave-dealer  would  not 
recognize  him. 

Witham,  however,  was  within  his  bar,  at  the  end  of 
11* 


126  HONOR',    OR, 

the  hall ;  and  as  Frederick,  after  seeing  his  baggage 
deposited,  turned  hastily  towards  the  door,  he  called  to 
him, — 

"  Pass  the  night  here,  sir?     Want  a  room ?  " 

44  Probably,"  replied  Bryant,  "  but  I  will  not  enter  my 
name  now.  I  shall  be  in  again  soon.  Can  you  direct 
me " 

"  Won't  take  very  long,  just  to  write  your  name. 
Won't  charge  you  any  thing  for  it,  if  you  go  to  your 
friends  after  all."  The  last  was  said  with  a  sneering 
laugh,  for  the  tavern-keeper  supposed  the  haste  of  his 
guest  to  be  prompted  by  meanness,  and  set  down  to  the 
same  cause  his  not  calling  for  any  thing  at  the  bar. 

Bryant  suppressed  his  irritation,  advanced,  and  silently 
wrote  in  the  dog's-eared  and  blotted  book,  "  F.  W.  Bry- 
ant, Irvine,  Mass." 

The  tavern-keeper  looked  at  the  name,  and  then  at 
the  writer. 

44  O,  I  see  why  you  didn't  want  to  write  your  name. 
I  remember  you  well  enough." 

"  We  have  met  before,  it  is  true,  Mr.  Witham  ;  and  I 
own  I  did  not  want  to  speak  with  you  till  I  could  do  so 
more  in  private." 

v  "  Private  !  I  think  it  is  pretty  private,  to  come  into  a 
man's  house,  mousing  round,  and  not  letting  one's  name 
be  known." 

44  Mr.  Witham,  I  wish  to  see  you  on  important  busi- 
ness. I  came  here  for  the  very  purpose.  I  should  be 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S    DAUGHTER.  127 

happy  to  speak  with  you  when  you  are  more  at  lei- 
sure. In  the  mean  time,  will  you  please  to  assign  me  a 
room  ?  " 

The  man  glared  at  him,  but  Bryant's  strong  effort  at 
self-control  had  its  reward.  The  tavern-keeper,  surly  as 
he  was,  could  not  well  refuse  the  common  duty  of  his 
business.  He  marked  a  number  against  the  name,  and 
Bryant  followed  the  negro,  who  carried  his  trunk  to  the 
room  thus  indicated. 

"  No  love  lost  between  you  and  that  young  man,  With- 
am,"  said  one  of  the  bystanders.  "  He  spoke  soft,  but 
he  looked  about  as  cross  as  you  did ;  and  you're  not  a 
lamb,  nor  a  dove  either." 

"  Where's  he  from,  Witham?"  "  What  do  you  know 
about  him  ?  "  were  the  questions  of  half  a  dozen  others. 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  him,  and  I  don't  care  to 
know.  I've  told  you,  I  went  to  the  North  first,  when  I 
came  from  England ;  but  I  could  not  stay  there ;  they 
were  too  stiff  and  precise  for  me.  Well,  this  fellow  was 
one  of  the  stiffest  of  the  whole  set,  —  looked  down  on 
a  poor  man  as  if  he  wouldn't  touch  him  with  a  pair  of 
tongs, —he'd  be  dreadfully  shocked  if  a  man  swore,  and 
go  into  fits  if  he  saw  a  glass  of  whiskey." 

"  Wonder  what  he  comes  here  for,  if  he's  that  sort  of 
fellow,"  said  Jones. 

"  Wonder  if  he  isn't  an  abolitionist,"  said  Thompson. 

"  Them's  just  the  sort  to  make  abolutionists  of,"  said 
Jones.  "  These  canting,  whining  people,  that  think 


128  HONOR',    ORy 

themselves  better  than  others,  are  always  dipping  into 
what  don't  concern  them." 

"  Here,  boy ! "  said  Smith,  beckoning  to  the  negro 
driver  of  the  stage,  who  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  hall. 
The  man  came  at  once,  and  was  interrogated. 

"  Did  that  man  that  went  up  stairs  just  now,  —  the 
man  that  made  such  a  fuss  with  Mr.  Witham  about  putting 
his  name  down,  —  did  he  have  any  talk  with  you  as  you 
came  up  ?  " 

"  No,  massa ;  I  'fraid  talk  with  he.     I  'fraid." 

"  What  you  afraid  of,  you  numskull?  " 

"  Massa,  I  'fraid  he  talk  bad  to  me,  as  he  talk  wid 
Toussaint." 

"Talk  with  who?  What  was  that?"  said  several 
voices. 

"  Massa,  you  know  Toussaint ;  ole  Mas'  Tom's  boy, 
down  to  Royalton  ?  " 

"Mas'  Tom?  O,  a  boy  of  Rogers's  that  keeps  the 
American  House  there?" 

"  Yes,  massa.  Well,  Toussaint  druv  this  gen'lman 
out  to  de  Sand  Hills  ;  and  he  tell  me  when  he  come  back 
he  was  a  queer  gen'lman.  He  talk  to  him  'bout  making 
a  rumpus  ;  a  'surrection  of  de  blacks  agin  de  massas.  I 
tell  Toussaint,  neber  let  me  hear  sich  anoder  word." 

"  Insurrection !  "  exclaimed  the  inquirers,  in  horror. 
But  Witham,  deep  as  was  his  dislike  of  the  young  lawyer, 
shrunk  from  the  consequences  of  the  rising  excitement. 
He  guessed  the  object  of  Bryant's  coming ;  and  while 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  129 

determined  to  baffle  it,  was  not  disposed  to  use  or  encour- 
age violence  against  his  daughter's  lover. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  he,  with  an  oath.  "  Don't  you 
know  that  a  nigger's  testimony's  nothing  at  all  ?  I  don't 
like  this  fellow,  and  I  have  reason  not  to  like  him ;  but 
he  has  other  fish  to  fry  than  meddling  with  niggers.  He 
says  he  comes  on  business  with  me,  and  I  reckon  you 
know,  boys,  that  I  ain't  an  abolitionist." 

"  You  —  you  old  nigger-trader  !  "  said  Jones,  laughing. 
"  But  perhaps,  fellows,  he's  come  to  try  and  convert  old 
Witham?" 

"  I  thought  that  prim  parson  was  going  to  settle  that 
business,"  said  Smith ;  "  that  one  that  came  so  near 
mounting  a  saddle  without  any  girths." 

"  That  trick  fell  through,  though,"  said  Thompson. 
"  And  Witham  is  sore  about  it ;  for  Colonel  Selwyn  gave 
him  an  awful  talking  to,  when  he  heard  what  had  been 
done." 

"  You  brought  that  on  me,  boys,  and  I  tell  you  it  was 
too  bad  to  try  such  a  trick  on  a  man  that  had  brought  me 
a  letter.  I  wasn't  quite  myself  that  time.  But  I  tell 
you,  I  won't  have  any  more  tricks,  or  any  more  talk, 
against  people  that  stay  at  my  house.  Mr.  Jones,  what 
will  you  have  to  drink  ?  " 

That  magic  word  led  the  thoughts  of  the  bar-room 
loungers  away  from  the  subject,  which  was  becoming  too 
serious  ;  and  after  treating  all  round,  Witham  suggested 
a  visit  to  his  bowling-alley,  though  excusing  himself  from 


130  HONOR;    OS, 

joining  them,  on  the  plea  that  he  could  not  leave  his  bar. 
No  sooner  were  they  gone,  however,  than  he  left  it,  and 
went  through  the  dining-room  into  a  small  private  parlor, 
the  same  which,  during  the  press  of  commencement  week, 
had  been  occupied  as  a  bed-room  by  Stevens  and  others. 
He  found  it  now  tenanted  by  his  "  better  half."  There 
could  be  little  question  that  Mrs.  Witham  deserved  that 
name. 

"  Well,  Susan,"  said  he,  "  here's  a  pretty  kettle  of 
fish  !  Here's  Betsy's  old  flame,  that  boy  that  I  told  you 
about,  come  spying  round  here  ;  and  I'll  warrant "  (we 
must  modify  some  of  his  language  here  and  elsewhere) 
"  he's  after  her  again." 

"Well,  John,  and  what  if  he  is?"  said  his  wife. 
"Why  not  let  him  take  the  gal,  and  be  done  with  it? 
She  keeps  a  droopin'  and  a  droopin',  and  there  ain't  no 
use  of  keepin'  on  her  at  this  rate." 

"  I  should  think  a  gal's  own  father  was  good  enough 
for  her  to  live  with,  any  how.  Some  folks  would  say 
that  you  wanted  to  get  rid  of  her,  because  you  ain't  her 
own  mother ;  but  then  you  haven't  no  children  of  your 
own,  and  it  seems  hard  you  should  go  agin  the  only  one 
I've  got." 

"  O,  John,  you  know  it  isn't  that.  I  didn't  like  Betsy 
at  first ;  I  thought  she  was  sort  of  uppish,  and  looked 
down  on  other  folks.  But  she's  been  so  good  and  so 
biddable,  it  goes  to  my  heart  to  see  her  pinin'  away." 

"  I  don't  see  about  her  being  so  biddable,  when  she 


THE   SLAVE -DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  131 

keeps  a  talking  to  me,  as  if  I  was  to  give  account  to  her 
of  what  I  do  to  get  her  a  living." 

"  But,  John,  she  hasn't  said  nothin'  since  you  give 
her  that  bio  win*  up,  when  she  took  on  about  your 
drinking." 

"  No,  I  guess  she  thought  it  wan't  no  use,  and  it 
wouldn't  be.  I  didn't  come  away  from  Old  England 
and  New  England,  both,  to  be  kept  down  by  a  little  gal 
in  my  own  house,  and  told  I  mustn't  drink,  nor  I  mustn't 
do  this,  that,  and  the  other  —  mustn't  sell  this  nigger, 
and  mustn't  buy  that." 

"  Well,  John,  you  and  she  don't  get  along  well  to- 
gether, no  how.  Now,  wouldn't  it  be  better  to  have  a 
quiet  house,  and  let  her  go  away  to  the  North,  if  she 
wants  to,  along  with  this  young  feller." 

John  took  a  turn  about  the  room,  grumbled  a  little, 
and  brought  out  an  oath  or  two,  but  seemed  to  be  con- 
sidering, favorably  on  the  whole,  the  suggestion  of  his 
wife,  when  the  sound  of  loud  and  angry  voices,  penetrat- 
ing the  thin  partitions  of  the  house,  drew  his  attention. 
He  listened  a  moment,  and  then  hastily  left  the  room. 

The  voices  which  he  had  heard  were  those  of  the  men 
from  whom  he  had  parted  shortly  before,  and  whom  he 
had  supposed  safely  engaged  in  the  bowling-alley.  They 
seemed  in  high  wrath,  and  as  he  entered  the  bar-room, 
the  first  word  he  heard  was  "  abolitionist,"  coupled  with 
an  adjective  more  emphatic  than  courteous. 

Frederick  Bryant  was  standing  near  the  stairs,  which 


132  HONOR;    OR, 

he  had  just  descended  from  the  room  assigned  him.  His 
tall  form  was  proudly  erect,  and  the  expression  on  his 
face  was  less  of  anger  or  fear  than  of  surprise  and  con- 
tempt. Opposite  him  were  the  three  bar-room  loungers, 
Smith,  Jones,  and  Thompson,  assailing  him  with  their 
combined  abuse.  There  was  something  in  his  aspect 
that  would  have  daunted  them,  but  they  were  strong  in 
their  numbers,  and  in  Witham's  whiskey,  to  which  they 
had  been  helping  themselves  since  they  returned  disap- 
pointed from  the  bowling-alley,  having  found  the  door 
locked. 

"  So  you're  not  an  abolitionist !  "  said  Smith.  "  O, 
no !  you  never  done  nothing  agin  the  rights  of  the  South  ! 
you  never  set  the  niggers  agin  their  masters !  you 
double-faced  hypocrite,  you !  " 

"  I'll  tell  you,  young  man,  you've  come  to  the  wrong 
place,  if  you're  going  to  work  about  in  the  dark  and 
make  mischief  between  us  and  the  slaves,"  said  Jones. 
"  We  have  a  short  way  of  dealing  with  such  creeping 
rascals." 

"  My  friends,  let  us  be  orderly  on  this  occasion,"  said 
Thompson  who,  though  dismissed  from  the  Methodist 
ministry  for  intemperance,  retained  some  of  the  profes- 
sional forms  of  speech.  "  The  business  we  have  to  do  is 
very  solemn,  and  I  could  wish  it  had  been  introduced  by 
prayer.  Our  young  brother  is  to  be  admonished,  and  if 
necessary,  disciplined " 

"  Disciplined  with  a  cat-o'-nine-tails,  and  then  covered 


THE   SLAVE -DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  133 

with  a  coat  of  tar  and  feathers  ;  and  I'll  see  that  done, 
or  my  name's  not  Dan  Smith." 

"  Don't  come  too  near,"  said  Frederick ;  "  it  might 
not  be  safe.  I  have  told  you  already  I  am  not  an  abo- 
litionist. If  you  have  any  thing  to  say  against  me,  I  am 
ready  to  meet  your  charges  before  a  magistrate." 

"  Magistrate,  indeed !  In  such  a  case  every  man's  a 
magistrate,"  said  Smith.  "  It's  the  protection  of  our 
lives  and  our  families." 

"  Our  rights  as  masters,  and  the  safety  of  our  wives 
and  children,"  added  Jones. 

"  And  the  poor  colored  brethren  themselves,"  said 
Thompson,  "  whom  Providence  has  placed  in  our 
keeping." 

"  And  so,"  said  Smith,  "  look  out,  you  blasted  nigger- 
stealer.  You  may  look  as  high  and  mighty  as  you 
please,  but  if  you're  found  here  to-night,  you'll  have  a 
lesson  that'll  make  you  stay  north,  if  ever  you  get  back 
there." 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Witham,  as  he  entered  the  room, 
"what's  all  this  about?  I  can't  have  my  company 
abused." 

"  Your  company  or  not,  Jack  Witham,"  said  Smith, 
"  he's  an  abolitionist ;  and  we  won't  have  no  abolitionists 
here, — Yankee  abolitionists,  —  no,  nor  English  neither." 

"  Brother  Witham,"  said  Thompson,  "  the  excitement 
on  this  occasion  is  called  for.     I  am  a  man  of  peace,  but 
I  reckon  this  is  a  case  for  tar  and  feathers." 
12 


134  '*'         HONOR ;    OR, 

"  I  reckon  you're  drunk,  all  of  you,"  said  Witham, 
"  and  so  just  clear  out  of  my  bar-room." 

"  Not  unless  you  clear  out  the  Yankee  too,"  said 
Smith.  "  Come  along,  my  tall  fellow,  and  let  the  folks 
see  you  outside." 

He  took  rude  hold  of  Bryant's  arm ;  but  the  latter 
sternly  shook  him  off,  and  seized  him  in  turn  by  the 
collar.  "  Out  of  the  door  with  him,"  said  Witham, 
grasping  Smith  on  the  other  side.  Together  they  bore 
him  towards  the  door,  the  bully  vainly  struggling,  and 
uttering  threats  and  curses.  Jones  and  Thompson  fol- 
lowed, increasing  the  tumult  with  their  clamors,  but  not 
venturing  to  rescue  their  leader.  When  all  were  outside 
the  door,  Bryant  and  Witham  let  go  their  hold ;  and 
Smith,  losing  his  balance,  fell  prostrate  on  the  floor  of 
the  piazza. 

"  You'll  kick  up  a  muss  in  my  bar-room  another 
time  ! "  said  Witham,  as  he  turned  away.  He  reentered 
the  house  with  Bryant,  and  locked  the  door  against  the 
vanquished  enemy. 

"  Mr.  Bryant,"  he  said,  "  I  did  not  give  you  much  of 
a  welcome,  but  I  hope  you  won't  mind  it.  You've  got 
real  pluck,  and  I'm  glad  of  it.  Make  yourself  at  home, 
and  pretty  soon  I'll  hear  what  you've  got  to  say." 


THE    SLAVE -DE ALERTS   DAUGHTER.  135 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

A  STRANGE  SCRUPLE. 

scene  which  had  taken  place  in  Witham's 
/I  piazza  was  not  entirely  without  precedent ;  and 
vj/  there  was  at  first  more  amusement  than  pity 
among  those  whom  the  noise  drew  together,  as  they 
saw  a  drunken  brawler  borne  out  of  the  house  which  had 
furnished  the  means  of  his  intemperance.  But  when 
those  who  had  been  expelled  gave  their  account  of  the 
affair,  and  declared  that  Witham  was  sheltering  an  agent 
of  the  abolitionists,  men  looked  serious.  Words  were 
interchanged  in  low  voices ;  and  though  the  hotel  was 
soon  left  in  silence,  there  was  something  in  that  silence 
more  ominous  than  the  clamor  that  preceded. 

The  door  had  been  opened ;  the  usual  frequenters  of 
the  hotel  had  assembled,  with  the  exception  of  the  three 
malecontents,  and  had  gone  to  dinner  at  the  summons 
of  the  bell.  The  meal  had  been  partaken  in  silence  and 
haste,  but  not  without  many  a  glance  of  curiosity  or 
dislike  towards  Bryant,  who  filled  the  seat  which  Lizzie 
was  accustomed  to  occupy.  Lizzie  had  been  spending 


136  HONOR;    OR, 

the  morning  with  the  Wheelers,  who,  since  they  had 
heard  of  her  through  Mr.  Stevens,  had  shown  her  much 
kindness.  They  had  kept  her  to  dine  with  them ;  but, 
excusing  herself  after  the  early  meal,  she  was  hastening 
homeward,  when  she  was  joined  by  Bryant.  The  path 
was  lonely,  and  no  stranger  witnessed  Lizzie's  start  of 
delighted  surprise,  or  intruded  on  the  greeting  of  the 
lovers.  The  first  few  moments  were  of  unmixed  happi- 
ness ;  but  those  passed,  Lizzie  exclaimed,  "O,  Frederick, 
I  ought  not  to  be  so  glad.  I  did  not  mean  that  you 
should  have  come  here." 

"  No,  you  did  not,  you  naughty  girl ;  and  so  you  did 
not  let  us  know  where  to  look  for  you.  But  I  have  found 
you,  in  spite  of  yourself,  thank  Heaven.  O,  Lizzie,  how 
anxious  we  have  been  for  you !  " 

"  I  do  thank  Heaven,  indeed,  Frederick,  to  see  you 
once  more  —  once  more  —  once  more,"  she  repeated, 
almost  wildly,  "  and  but  once  more." 

"  Once  more,  and  forever,  Lizzie,"  said  the  youth. 
"  I  must  rescue  you  from  this  dismal  life  that  I  find  you 
in.  If  it  is  a  time  of  trial  with  you,  so  much  the  better 
time  for  me  to  put  an  end  to  all  trials,  as  far  as  a  lover 
or  a  husband  can.  But,  O  Lizzie,  why  did  you  not  write 
when  you  left  that  place  in  Alabama?  You  don't  know 
what  a  search  I  have  had  for  you,  you  little  runaway." 

"  I  could  not  write,  Frederick  ;  I  thought  it  was  best 
not.  I  saw  my  path  was  likely  to  be  dark  and  sad,  and 
it  seemed  best  that  I  should  bear  the  burden  alone." 

"  I  thought  as  much/'  said  he.     "  Aunt  Richards  tried 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  137 

to  make  me  believe  you  were  indifferent ;  but  I  knew 
your  generous  heart  too  well.  And  you  see  I  have  fol- 
lowed you  and  found  you  out.  Now,  the  next  thing  is 
to  return  to  the  North.  If  you  will  trust  yourself  with 
the  lover  as  far  as  Royalton,  my  friend  Stevens,  there, 
will  give  me  a  still  nearer  claim." 

"  O,  Frederick,  you  promised " 

"  Never  to  propose  a  runaway  match  again.  And 
I  am  not  breaking  my  promise.  We  will  have  your 
father's  consent.  He  received  me  coldly  at  first,  but 
now  we  are  on  very  good  terms.  And  I  have  more 
courage  to  ask  than  I  had  before.  Then  I  was  only  a 
young  law  student,  with  nothing  to  depend  on  but  a  pro- 
fession I  had  not  tried.  Now  I  have  made  a  beginning, 
and  —  and " 

"  You  have  succeeded,  as  I  knew  you  would." 

"  Well,  friends  have  been  kind,  and  nattered  me  ;  but, 
besides  that,  the  death  of  my  grandfather  Williams  puts 
me  in  possession  of  more  property  than  I  shall  know 
what  to  do  with,  unless  Lizzie  comes  and  helps  me." 

"  Dear  Frederick !  and  all  these  bright  prospects  you 
are  willing  to  darken  by  marrying  a  slave-trader's 
daughter  !  No,  dear,  dear,  dearest  friend,  it  cannot  be  ; 
it  ought  not  to  be  ;  it  must  not  be." 

"  Yes,  it  must  be,  though.  A  slave-trader's  daughter, 
indeed !  You  are  the  daughter  of  Richard  Livingston, 
Esq.,  of  Irvine,  a  man  whose  honor  is  above  suspicion. 

As  for  this  man " 

12* 


138  HONOR;    OR, 

"  Ah,  Frederick,  he  is  my  father  !  " 

"  O,  I  have  nothing  to  say  against  him.  You  do  not 
know  what  good  friends  we  are.  We  have  stood  side  by 
side,  and  I  am  really  under  very  great  obligations  to  him. 
Besides,  I  want  nothing  of  him  but  you ;  if  he  offered 
me  any  thing  else  I  would  not  take  it.  His  ways  and 
mine  are  very  different,  but  I  do  not  doubt  we  shall  get 
along  very  well  together.  Only  say,  that  if  he  consents, 
you  will  not  refuse  me." 

She  blushed  —  faltered  —  gave  him  her  hand,  and 
said,  "  Only  mind,  I  cannot  go  without  his  consent." 

They  walked  together  in  happy  talk  towards  her 
home.  Their  hopes  were  high,  for  every  thing  seemed 
favorable  to  their  union ;  and  the  loveliness  of  nature 
around  them,  and  the  luxurious  softness  of  the  air  on 
that  beautiful  afternoon  in  early  autumn,  harmonized 
with  every  gentle  feeling.  Witham  met  them  at  the 
door,  and  expressed  neither  surprise  nor  displeasure  at 
seeing  them  together.  They  went  with  him  into  the 
private  parlor. 

"  I  told  you,  Mr.  Witham,"  said  Bryant,  "  that  I 
came  on  business ;  and  you  have  guessed  rightly,  that 
my  business  concerned  your  daughter.  She  is  too  good 
a  daughter  to  do  any  thing  without  your  leave,  and  I 
do  not  ask  her  to.  But  I  do  ask  your  consent.  You 
know  something  of  my  character  and  standing  three 
years  ago.  Since  then  I  have  entered  the  profession  of 
the  law,  and  have  inherited  property  enough  to  make 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  139 

me  independent,  if  I  choose,  of  any  profession.  I  ask 
your  consent  to  my  union  with  Lizzie." 

Witham  looked  from  the  speaker  to  his  daugh- 
ter. She  had  risen,  and  with  one  hand  in  her  lover's, 
and  the  other  half  raised  towards  himself,  looked  up  in 
his  face  with  more  of  affectionate  confidence  than  he  had 
seen  in  her  features  since  her  childhood.  The  father's 
heart  was  touched,  and  in  a  softer  tone  than  he  had 
.  almost  ever  used,  he  asked  the  question,  "  Betsy,  do 
you  want  to  leave  me  ?  " 

"  Frederick  is  an  old  friend,"  she  replied,  timidly. 

The  answer  did  not  quite  suit  Witham,  and  his  next 
words  showed  it.  "  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  suppose,  then, 
Betsy  must  go  back  to  her  '  old  friends '  off  there  at  the 
North,  whatever  becomes  of  her  father.  Perhaps  it  is 
best ;  but  I  should  like  to  see  her  sometimes  ;  and  you'll 
let  her  come  and  see  me  ?  Sometimes,  too,  I  shall  go 
North,  as  I  have  done  for  years." 

Bryant  looked  grave.  He  had  no  great  wish  for  inti- 
macy with  his  intended  father-in-law  ;  but  he  answered, 
"  Certainly.  My  wife  will  be  at  perfect  liberty  to  visit 
and  to  receive  her  friends."  He  almost  spoiled  the  con- 
cession by  adding,  "  I  know  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Livingston 
are  anxious  to  receive  her  as  a  daughter,  and  as  we  shall 

live  near  them "  He  paused,  uncertain  how  to 

close  the  sentence. 

"  As  she  will  live  near  the  Livingstons,  her  father  may 
as  well  keep  out  of  the  way,"  said  Witham.  "  But  I 


140  HONOR;    OR, 

can  tell  you  Mr.  Bryant,  a  father  who  brings  twenty 
thousand  dollars  to  his  daughter  is  worth  seeing,  if  he  is 
an  old,  rough  slave-dealer." 

"  I  don't  want  your  money,"  said  Bryant,  abruptly. 
"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Witham,  if  I  seem  uncivil.  I  have 
abundant  means  to  support  my  wife,  and  I  ask  from  you 
nothing  but  her.  I  am  willing  —  more  than  willing  — 
to  take  Lizzie  without  any  dowry." 

"  But  I  am  not  willing  to  let  my  only  child  go  from 
me  like  a  beggar.  Who  should  my  property  go  to  but 
her,  I  wonder  ?  No,  Mr.  Bryant,  you  don't  like  me  very 
well,  I  know,  and  I  haven't  fancied  you  either ;  but  as 
Betsy  is  willing  to  marry  you,  she  shall  bring  you  what 
will  be  worth  your  having." 

"  No,  I  am  in  earnest,  Mr.  Witham  ;  I  want  nothing 
but  Lizzie.  And  you  need  not  be  afraid  that  she  will 
not  be  well  provided  for.  Besides  what  I  can  do  myself, 
Mr.  Livingston,  I  know " 

"  So  you  are  willing  to  take  Mr.  Livingston's  money, 
but  not  mine  !  "  said  Witham.  "  What  is  there  about 
my  money,  that  you  can't  touch  it  ?  " 

Frederick  now  saw  the  dangerous  ground  that  he  was 
on ;  but  he  was  too  conscientious  to  conceal  the  nature 
of  his  scruple. 

"  You  know,"  said  he,  "  our  feeling  at  the  North  with 
regard  to  slavery.  I  share  in  those  feelings  ;  and  while 
I  do  not  undertake  to  dictate  to  others  what  they  should 
do,  I  am  resolved  never  to  own  a  slave,  or  any  property 
that  has  any  thing  to  do  with  slavery." 


THE   SLAVE- DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  141 

"Very  particular,  you  are,  young  man,"  said  Witham, 
with  a  sarcastic  laugh.  "  A  good  many  of  your  northern 
folks  have  no  objection  at  all  to  a  southern  wife,  with  a 
good  large  plantation  and  half  a  hundred  niggers.  But 
I  have  no  plantation,  and  not  a  nigger  of  mine  shall 
trouble  you.  All  I  have,  except  what's  about  the  house, 
and  a  few  that  a  partner  of  mine  is  off  with  to  sell  in 
Texas,  —  all  except  them  is  in  good  sound  stock  of  the 
Xenophon  Bank,  and  Betsy  shall  have  ten  thousand  of 
it  when  she's  married,  and  at  least  ten  thousand  more 
when  I  give  up  the  ship.  Let's  see  what  you  say  to 
that,  my  boy  !  " 

"  I  say  as  before,  sir,"  said  Bryant.  "  All  I  ask  of 
you  is  this  dear  girl.  I  cannot  accept  of  any  property 
that  has  been  made  by  slave-trading." 

"  Then,  by  Heaven,  you  had  better  look  for  some 
man's  daughter  that  you  can  ask  for  without  insulting 
him  to  his  face.  Betsy  can  find  enough  to  be  glad  to 
take  her  and  her  money  too,  without  crying  after  a  born 
fool  of  an  abolitionist.  No,  no,  Betsy,  don't  cling  to  me, 
nor  kneel,  nor  cry,  nor  say  a  word  for  him.  You've 
seen  the  last  of  him,  or  my  name's  not  John  Witham. 
And  as  for  you,  sir,  you'd  better  be  quick  and  leave  the 
place  before  the  people  are  after  you,  for  there's  a  breeze 
stirring  already,  or,  if  there  isn't,  there  soon  will  be. 
Clear  out  from  my  house,  and  if  ever  you  enter  it  again, 
the  chance  will  be  you'll  get  the  welcome  of  a  pistol 
ball." 


142  HONOR;    OR, 

Bryant  confronted  the  angry  man  with  aspect  not  less 
determined  than  his  own.  "  Spare  your  threats,  sir," 
he  said.  "  They  will  have  no  power  with  me.  I  have 
refused  to  defile  my  hands  with  your  ill-gotten  gold,  and 
I  would  not  unsay  that  refusal,  though  it  would  gain  me 

0 

the  treasure  I  seek  beyond  all  else  in  life.  I  will  not 
intrude  further  in  your  family ;  but  no  threats  shall 
prevent  me  from  watching  for  Lizzie's  good.  If  she 
ever  wants  a  friend,  she  will  know  on  whom  to  call ;  and 
if  she  suffers  from  your  heartless  tyranny,  you  too,  sir, 
shall  find  that  she  has  a  defender  near."  Regardless  of 
Witham's  presence,  he  stooped  down  and  kissed  the 
almost  fainting  girl ;  then  turned,  and  passed  from  the 
room  with  a  lofty  tread. 

He  left  the  house,  and  walked  rapidly  along  the  path 
at  its  side,  which  he  had  so  recently  trodden  with  Lizzie, 
full  of  the  high  hopes,  which  were  now  again  crushed  to 
the  earth.  Having  gone  some  distance,  he  turned  towards 
the  hotel,  then,  reaching  it,  turned  again,  when  the 
thought  struck  him  through  the  tumult  of  his  feelings, 
what  course  he  should  next  pursue.  He  now  remem- 
bered that  he  had  not  yet  called  on  his  old  friend  Judge 
Hendrick,  nor  delivered  the  letters  of  introduction  to 
others,  with  which  Stevens  had  furnished  him ;  and  as 
he  considered  the  circumstances  in  which  he  was  placed, 
he  saw  the  importance  of  securing  the  interest  of  those 
who  might  assist  him  in  the  designs  which  his  mind  began 
to  revolve.  These  were  indefinite,  or,  when  they  assumed 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  143 

a  distinct  form,  they  appeared  extravagant  and  impossi- 
ble. He  was  resolved  to  watch  over  Lizzie's  safety  and 
happiness ;  but  would  it  contribute  to  either  for  him  to 
linger  as  an  idler  in  the  village  where  she  dwelt,  and 
where,  after  what  had  passed,  he  could  not  expect  to  be 
permitted  to  visit  her  ?  He  had  been  authorized  by  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Livingston  to  urge  on  Witham  that  he  should 
send  his  daughter  to  them  for  a  visit,  if  not  for  per- 
manent residence ;  but  in  his  eagerness  for  the  accom- 
plishment of  his  own  wishes,  he  had  omitted  all  mention 
of  this  proposal,  and  neither  pride  nor  prudence  sanc- 
tioned a  recurrence  to  it  now.  Should  he  write  to  Mr. 
Livingston,  and  suggest  to  him  to  apply  to  Witham  for 
that  purpose?  He  felt  that  the  scene  of  the  last  hour 
had  left  little  hope  for  the  success  of  such  an  application, 
even  if  made  by  Lizzie's  former  protectors ;  and  his 
mind  revolted  at  the  thought  of  requesting  his  honored 
friends  to  make  overtures  to  the  slave-trader.  Uncertain 
of  his  course,  he  was  only  firmly  resolved  not  to  abandon 
the  protection  of  the  innocent  and  unhappy,  nor  to  resign 
the  hope  of  union  with  one,  of  whose  affection  for  him- 
self he  was  fully  assured.  Perhaps,  if  he  could  not  make 
friends  in  Tusculum,  they  could  give  him  advice  or  aid. 
With  this  thought,  he  left  the  hotel,  —  where  he  felt  that 
he  was  remaining  only  by  the  sufferance  of  the  man  with 
whom  he  had  quarrelled,  —  and  inquired  the  way  to 
Judge  Hendrick's. 

His  cordial  reception  by  the  judge  encouraged  him  to 


144  ^      HONOR  i    OR, 

enter,  with  brief  preface,  on  the  story  of  his  -visit  to 
Tusculum,  its  cause,  and  its  ill  success.  The  judge 
shook  his  head  at  the  idea  of  his  gentlemanly  visitor's 
seeking  a  union  with  the  daughter  of  the  notorious 
Witham.  "  My  dear  sir,"  said  he,  "  I  have  no  doubt 
you  feel  warmly,  as  young  men  always  do ;  but  you 
must  let  me  take  the  cool  view  of  an  older  person. 
Give  up  this  undertaking.  The  connection  is  one  that 
would  always  be  an  embarrassment  to  you.  Even  we, 
who  hold  slaves,  consider  the  business  this  man  follows 
as  disreputable  ;  and  how  would  it  appear  in  your  section 
of  the  country,  where  the  prejudice  is  so  strong  against 
our  whole  system?  If  she  would  run  away  with  you 
indeed,  —  those  things  take  place  here  pretty  often,  and 
a  man  is  not  thought  less  of  for  having  married  in  that 
way,  —  I  should  think,  with  such  a  father,  she  would  be 
glad  to  ;  and  brought  up  away  from  him,  too." 

"  She  will  not  consent  to  that,  sir ;  and  I  honor  her 
scruples  too  much  to  urge  her.  In  fact,  I  have  promised 
never  to  propose  it  again."  . 

"  That  is  certainly  in  her  favor ;  rather  over-scrupu- 
lous, though  ;  unless,  indeed,  there  is  a  view  of  it  which 
may  not  be  pleasing,  but  ought  to  be  considered.  Some 
would  say,  the  love  cannot  be  very  deep  that  objects  to 
such  a  trial  under  such  circumstances." 

"  O,  I  have  no  doubt  on  that  score.  I  think,  too,  that 
besides  her  sense  of  natural  and  religious  duty,  she  has 
thought  much  of  a  charge  given  her  by  her  mother,  just 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  145 

before  she  died,  to  obey  her  father,  and  stay  with  him 
if  he  should  ever  return." 

"  Well,  whatever  the  reason,  she  has  made  her  choice. 
She  will  stay  with  her  father,  and  she  will  not  go  with 
you.  What  more  have  you  to  say  ?  You  cannot  marry 
a  lady  in  spite  of  her  own  will." 

"  But  she  consented,  if  his  sanction  could  be  obtained ; 
and  we  almost  had  it,  when  an  unlucky  circumstance 
brought  us  to  high  words,  and  we  parted." 

"  So  you  said  ;  but  you  did  not  name  the  circumstance. 
Some  years  hence,  perhaps,  you  may  regard  it  as  a 
fortunate  interruption." 

"  The  subject  we  got  on  was  that  of  slavery." 

"  Slavery !  I  wish  those  busybodies  would  let  slavery 
alone.  But  what  had  slavery  to  do  with  it  ?  Did  Witham 
want  you  to  live  here,  and  go  into  the  business  with 
him?" 

"  Not  quite  so  bad  as  that,  sir  ;  he  only  began  telling 
what  he  could  give  his  daughter ;  and  I  declined  touch- 
ing his  property,  knowing  how  it  had  been  gained." 

"  You  did,  indeed  !  Then  you  had  no  view  to  the  old 
man's  money-bags.  Strange  !  The  first  instance  that 
ever  I  knew  of  a  man  quarrelling  with  his  future  father- 
in-law,  or  with  any  one  else,  for  giving  him  too  much 
money.  If  that  is  all,  it  seems  to  me  the  difficulty  might 
be  got  over.  It  is  not  generally  very  hard  to  persuade 
people  to  keep  their  money." 
13 


146  HONOR ;   OS, 

"  I  am  afraid,  sir,  the  breach  is  irreconcilable.  Cer- 
tainly I  would  never  accept  a  dollar  from  him." 

"  Your  views  seem  rather  romantic.  There  are  many 
from  the  North  who  like  our  southern  beauties  all  the 
better  for  the  negroes  they  own." 

"  Perhaps  so,  sir ;  but  they  remain  here,  and  become 
southern  in  their  feelings.  Or,  if  not,  at  least  their 
feelings  and  mine  are  different.  I  am  to  live  at  the 
North.  I  am  in  a  profession  which  often  leads  to  public 
life.  This  subject  of  slavery  is  exciting  more  and  more 
attention  ;  and  whichever  side  I  take,  it  must  not  be  said 
that  I  am  bribed  with  a  slave-trader's  money,  nor  that  I 
am  base  enough  to  oppose  the  system,  and  yet  receive  its 
wages." 

"  You're  a  little  of  a  fanatic,  but  I  don't  like  you  the 
worse  for  it.  You  go  according  to  the  rules  and  feelings 
of  your  state,  as  I  go  for  mine.  But  as  for  your  affair, 
if  you  won't  take  my  advice  and  give  it  up,  the  best 
thing  you  can  do  is  to  stay  here  a  while,  and  see  if 
any  change  takes  place  in  old  Witham's  feelings.  You 
cannot  properly  stay  at  his  house,  of  course  ;  so  you 
must  be  my  guest.  Take  tea  with  us  now,  and  I  will 
send  one  of  my  people  to  the  hotel  for  your  baggage." 

The  offer  was,  after  some  hesitation,  gratefully  ac- 
cepted. Judge  Hendrick  led  his  guest  into  another 
room,  and  introduced  him  to  his  family.  The  evening 
meal  was  served,  and  Bryant  found  his  depression 
cheered  by  the  intelligence  and  refinement  of  the 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  147 

circle  around,  when  a  servant  entered  the  room  and 
handed  him  a  note.  He  opened  it,  and  read  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

"  There    is    a    crowd    around  the  house,  threatening  x\ 
vengeance    against    you  as  an  abolitionist.      They  will 
soon  learn  where   you  have  gone.      Escape  while    you 
have  time.  E.  W." 

"  I  must  leave  here  at  once,  Judge  Hendrick,  or  I 
may  bring  trouble  upon  you,"  said  Bryant,  showing  the 
note  to  his  entertainer. 

"  It  may  be  the  best  course,  indeed,"  said  the  judge 
—  "  not  for  my  sake,  but  your  own.  I  will  send  Henry 
with  you  to  Professor  Wheeler's.  It  will  hardly  be 
suspected  that  you  have  gone  there ;  and  if  matters 
look  serious,  I  will  send  a  saddle  horse,  with  which  I 
advise  you  to  make  your  way  out  of  this  neighborhood 
at  once." 

"  Thanks  for  your  great  kindness,"  said  the  young 
man  ;  "  but  there  will  be,  I  trust,  no  occasion  for  it.  I 
will  return  to  the  hotel." 

"  You  must  not  think  of  such  a  thing,  Mr.  Bryant," 
said  Mrs.  Hendrick.  "  You  would  be  rushing  into  a 
den  of  wild  beasts." 

"  I  will  not  own  myself  guilty  by  running  away," 
said  Bryant,  proudly.  "  I  have  done  nothing,  and  in- 
tended nothing,  against  the  peace  or  the  institutions 
of  this  section.  I  will  meet  those  that  charge  me  with 


148  %    HQNOR;   OR, 

it.  I  have  a  good  deal  of  confidence  in  the  justice  of 
the  people,  if  properly  appealed  to  ;  and  if  danger  comes, 
I  had  rather  die  standing  than  running.  Besides,  Mr. 
Witham's  house  is  endangered  on  my  account,  and 
there  is  at  least  one  there  whose  safety  I  must  pro- 
vide for." 

"I  am  not  sure  but  Mr.  Bryant  is  right,"  said  the 
judge.  "  The  attempt  to  escape  might  fail,  from  his 
want  of  knowledge  of  the  country ;  and  I  think,  if  I 
go  with  him,  I  have  influence  enough  to  protect  him 
from  ill  treatment." 

Bryant  objected  to  his  host's  exposing  himself;  and 
Mrs.  Hendrick,  with  trembling  voice,  tried  to  dissuade 
her  husband  ;  but  the  judge  was  not  to  be  deterred  from 
fulfilling  the  duty  of  hospitality.  He  laughed  at  his 
wife's  fears,  asking  her  if  she  thought  he  was  not  pretty 
well  known  in  Tusculum ;  and  after  he  had  given  some 
directions  to  a  servant,  the  two  gentlemen  left  the  house 
arm  in  arm,  and  walked  rapidly  towards  the  hotel, 
around  which  they  soon  saw  the  gathered  crowd,  and 
heard  the  cries  that  bore  witness  to  their  excitement. 


THE   SLAVE -DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  149 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

THE  MOB. 

account  which  the  stage-driver  had  given 
to  the  bar-room  loungers,  of  Bryant's  con- 
/  versation  with  the  negro  Toussaint,  had  not 
fallen  on  inattentive  ears.  The  men  who  heard  it, 
having  little  to  do  but  to  drink,  and  occasionally  to 
gamble  or  fight,  naturally  employed  the  time  which 
their  own  affairs  did  not  demand  in  attending  to  those 
of  their  neighbors ;  and  as  soon  as  they  had  parted 
from  Witham,  they  proceeded  to  discuss,  with  no  little 
vehemence,  the  purposes  and  the  abolition  propensities 
of  Witham's  new  guest.  It  was  not  strange  that  they 
should  connect  his  arrival  with  Witham's  daughter  ;  and 
as  Smith,  the  leading  spirit  among  them,  had  already, 
in  his  own  mind,  aspired  to  her  hand,  he  was  the  less 
disposed  to  see  the  prize  conferred  on  a  stranger  and  an 
abolitionist.  When,  therefore,  he  had  returned  from 
the  bowling-alley  to  the  bar-room,  and  finding  it  unoccu- 
pied, had  helped  himself  and  his  companions  liberally 
to  Witham's  liquor,  the  entrance  of  Bryant  at  once 
13* 


150  HONOR;    OR, 

prompted  his  rude  attack ;  and,  when  this  had  led  to  his 
own  expulsion  from  the  house,  he  and  his  associates  were 
neither  scrupulous  nor  idle  in  spreading  the  intelligence 
that  there  was  an  abolition  agent  at  the  Eagle  Hotel,  and 
that  the  landlord  had  taken  his  part  against  some  public- 
spirited  gentlemen  who  were  disposed  to  call  him  to  ac- 
count. The  better  class  of  citizens,  opposed  as  they  were 
».  I  •*-*" 

•'  to  abolitionism,  paid  little  regard  to  statements  from  such 

"--- 1.  ii       i  n»«^^, 

I  a  source  ;  but  there  were  enough  of  the  idle,  the  ignorant, 
t  and  the  violent  to  spread  the  excitement,  and  others 
\  joined  the  gathering  crowd  through  mere  curiosity. 

Thus  it  was  that  in  front  of  the  hotel  there  was  now 
assembled  a  crowd  of  men  and  boys,  blending  in  rude 
chorus  their  various  cries,  "  State  Rights  !  "  "  Southern 
Rights  ! "  "  Nullification  !  "  "  Down  with  the  Yankees  ! " 
and  "  Down  with  the  Abolitionists  !  "  Smith  and  his  two 
companions,  Jones  and  Thompson,  with  some  others, 
were  in  consultation  on  the  piazza,  while  at  the  windows 
appeared  the  faces  of  the  servants  of  the  house.  Witham 
advanced  from  his  bar,  himself  somewhat  excited  with 
liquor,  and  seeing  no  better  way  of  conciliating  the 
crowd  than  to  invite  them  to  share  the  same  excitement. 
"  Ask  Mr.  Thompson  and  Mr.  Jones  to  walk  in  and 
take  some  refreshment,  Cato,"  said  he.  "  There's  that 
fellow  Smith  again  !  —  his  impudence  !  Mr.  Wilkins, 
Mr.  Jameson,  walk  in,  gentlemen.  What  will  you  have 
to  drink,  gentlemen?  Walk  in,  and  make  yourselves  at 
home." 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  151 

The  leaders  of  the  mob  approached,  without  replying 
to  his  invitation  ;  and  Thompson,  who  thought  he  had 
the  gift  of  eloquence,  pressing  before  the  rest,  endeavored 
to  announce  their  business. 

"  Mr.  Witham,  we  are  a  committee  of  the  free  and  — 
and  —  free  and  patriotic  citizens  of  Tusculum,  assembled 
on  this  occasion,  —  I  repeat,  on  this  occasion " 

"  Witham,"  broke  in  Smith,  "  there's  a aboli- 
tionist in  the  house,  and  we  are  going  to  tar  and  feather 
him." 

"  Hang  him,"  cried  another  voice  —  "  come  here  to  set 
the  niggers  to  cutting  our  throats  !  Hanging's  too  good 
for  him." 

"  Tar  and  cotton  him,"  said  a  student  from  the  college, 
more  facetiously,  perhaps,  more  mercifully  inclined. 
"  Think,  fellows,  what  a  pretty  bird  he  will  be,  with  cot- 
ton for  feathers  ;  —  so  downy." 

"  Tar  and  cotton,  tar  and  cotton  !  "  cried  several  voices. 

"  With  a  good  whipping  to  begin  with,"  said  Smith. 
"  Witham,  where's  your  raw-hide?"  —  that  name  being 
given  to  a  certain  long,  twisted  instrument  of  correction. 

"  Let's  have  a  tar-kettle,"  cried  Jones.  "  Here,  you 
boys,  Zeke  and  Samson,  leave  your  staring  out  of  that 
window,  and  bestir  yourselves.  Run  over  to  old  Moody's, 
and  tell  him  his  tar-kettle's  wanted  for  the  public  ser- 
vice." 

"  And,  Scip,  you  nigger,"  said  Smith,  "  off  to  Peters's 
warehouse,  and  get  some  cotton." 


152  HONOR !   OR, 

"  Mas'  Peters'  wa'house  done  lock  up  for  de  night," 
said  Scip. 

"  Some  of  you  go,  boys,  and  break  the  gate  open," 
said  Jones.  "  No  bales  come  in  yet,  but  you'll  find  waste 
enough  lying  about." 

"But  where's  the  feUow  himself?"  cried  Smith. 
"  Witham,  what  have  you  done  with  him?  We  demand 
to  see  the  man  that's  been  staying  here  to-day,  and  talk- 
ing abolitionism  round  among  our  niggers."  Smith  had 
never  owned  a  negro,  or  any  thing  else,  worth  a  five  dol- 
lar bill. 

"  I've  nothing  to  say  to  you,  Dan  Smith.  I  shall 
have  something  to  say,  by  and  by,  to  your  sorrow. 
If  any  gentleman  has  any  thing  to  say  to  me,  I'm  ready 
to  hear  him,  and  give  him  a  civil  answer  ;  but  I  tell  you, 
Dan  Smith,  the  less  words  from  you  to  me  the  better." 

"  Hurrah  for  Jack  Witham  !  A  nigger-dealer  turned 

abolitionist !  But  that's  all  you  could  expect  in  a 

Englishman.  I  say,  boys,  if  Witham  don't  give  him  up, 
let's  burn  the  house  down." 

"  Hang  the  Yankee  and  the  Englishman  both,"  cried 
another  voice. 

"  Brethren,"  said  Thompson, — "  gentlemen,  I  mean,  — 
let  us  act  as  orderly  citizens  on  this  occasion.  We  repre- 
sent the  dignity  of  the  chivalrous  South.  Let  us  obtain 
an  interview  with  this  suspected  person,  and,  having 
brought  home  to  him  a  statement  of  the  enormity  of  the 
crimes  laid  to  his  charge,  crimes  which,  rousing  the  feel- 


THE  SLAVE -DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  153 

ing  of  indignation  in  the  breast  of  this  entire  community, 
alarming  all  classes  for  the  safety  of  our  peculiar  institu- 
tions, our  wives,  our  children,  and  our  —  our  —  our  sa- 
ered  honor,  have  brought  us  together  on  this  occasion,  in 

rightful  vindication " 

\ .     "  Let's  have  him  here,  and  set  Thompson  to  talk  at 
him,"  said  Jones. 

"  That  would  be  some  punishment  in  itself,"  said  the 
facetious  and  merciful  student. 

"  There's  Judge  Hendrick  coming,  boys  !  "  cried  one, 
who  stood  near  the  end  of  the  piazza.  "  There's  the 
judge  coming,  and  somebody  with  him.  Wonder  what 
the  old  judge  will  think  of  all  this  ! " 

"  Think  ?  "  said  Smith.  "  If  he  don't  think  it  right  to 
stand  up  for  the  institutions  of  the  South,  I  reckon  he 
won't  get  many  votes  when  he's  up  for  the  judgeship 
next  time." 

"  Who's  that  with  him?"  cried  several  at  once. 

"  I'll  be if  it  isn't  that  man  himself  that  we  are 

after,"  said  Jones. 

".Is  it  ?  "  said  the  student.  "  Abolitionist  or  not,  he  has 
a  good  deal  of  pluck." 

The  judge  and  his  companion  approached,  the  crowd 
making  way  for  them,  and  ascended  the  steps  amid  a 
general  silence.  The  judge  himself  was  the  first  to 
break  it. 

"  Mr.  Witham,"  said  he,  "  what  is  the  meaning  of 
this  crowd?  Is  any  thing  unusual  going  on  in  your 


154  HONOR',    OR, 

house  that  calls  so  many  of  our  fellow-citizens  together 
around  it  ?  " 

"  The  folks  have  come  together,  judge,  out  of  some 
foolery  that  Dan  Smith  has  put  in  their  heads.  But 
walk  in,  walk  in,  judge.  Not  you,  though,  Mr.  Bryant, 
or  whatever  your  name  is.  I  don't  want  you  in  my 
house  ;  and  you  may  just  take  your  things  and  find  lodg- 
ings elsewhere,  if  you  can  get  any." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  enter  your  house  at  present,  Mr. 
Witham.  I  came  back  on  purpose  to  talk  with  these  gen- 
tlemen, who,  I  understood,  were  desirous  to  speak  to  me. 
Gentlemen,  my  name  is  Frederick  Bryant,  a  stranger, 
who  arrived  in  Tusculum  this  morning.  I  understand 
you  have  business  with  me." 

"  Our  business,  Mr.  Bryant,"  began  Thompson,  "  is 
—  is  of  a  serious  kind.  The  circumstances  under  which 
we  are  assembled,  on  this  occasion,  are  connected  with 
those  rights  of  freedom,  and  those  noble  though  pecu- 
liar institutions,  in  defence  of  which  our  revolutionary 
fathers " 

"  We  hear,  Mr.  Bryant,"  said  Smith,  "  that  you  are 

a abolitionist ;  you've  been  talking  abolitionism  to 

our  niggers,  stirring  them  up  to  insurrection  ;  and  you've 
been  talking  abolitionism  to  Witham  here ;  and  we've 
made  up  our  minds  to  give  you  a  hundred  lashes,  and  a 
coat  of  tar  and  cotton,  and  send  you  out  of  the  state 
about  the  quickest.  So  lose  no  time  talking,  but  off  with 
your  coat." 


THE  SLAVE -DEALER*  8  DAUGHTER.  155 

"  Keep  your  distance,  scoundrel,"  said  Bryant.  "  Gen- 
tlemen/' he  added,  raising  his  voice  till  its  powerful  tones 
rang  to  the  remotest  of  the  crowd,  "  is  it  possible  you 
are  about  to  commit  an  outrage  on  a  stranger  without 
letting  him  hear  the  evidence  on  which  he  is  accused,  or 
have  an  opportunity  to  defend  himself?  I  have  been  in 
this  town  little  more  than  six  hours.  What  have  I  done 
in  that  short  time  to  deserve  such  a  punishment  as  that 
with  which  this  man  threatens  me  ?  I  have  not  spoken 
to  a  single  negro  in  the  place,  unless  it  was  to  give  some 
direction  about  my  baggage,  or  to  inquire  the  way ;  and, 
if  you  have  heard  any  thing  of  a  conversation  elsewhere, 
it  must  have  been  very  much  misrepresented,  to  make 
any  harm  out  of  it.  Those  I  have  spoken  with  here 
have  been  principally  Mr.  Witham  and  Judge  Hendrick  ; 
and  I  ask  any  man  of  common  sense  if  I  should  have 
been  likely  to  select  them  as  subjects  for  the  infusion  of 
abolition  sentiments.  Mr.  Witham  you  know.  I  shall 
say  little  of  him,  for  he  and  I  do  not  agree.  Judge  Hen- 
drick is  your  respected  fellow-townsman,  a  Southerner  by 
birth,  and  one  who  would  never  countenance  any  thing 
against  the  peace  of  the  community  in  which  he  resides. 
I  appeal  to  him  to  say,  if  I  have,  to  his  knowledge,  advo- 
cated insurrection,  or  said  or  done  any  thing,  which  I  had 
not,  as  a  free  but  peaceful  citizen,  a  right  to  say  or  do." 

"  And  I,"  said  the  judge,  "  testify  most  fully  and  most 
willingly  in  favor  of  Mr.  Bryant.  I  am  well  acquainted 
with  his  friends,  and  have  known  himself  from  his  boy- 


156  HONOR;   OS, 

hood ;  and  his  purpose  in  visiting  Tusculum  I  know  to 
be  a  legal  and  proper  one.  His  views  on  some  subjects 
may  be  different  from  ours  ;  but  I  am  fully  assured  that 
he  has  not,  since  he  has  been  here,  said  or  done  any 
thing  against  the  peace  of  the  community,  and  convinced 
that  he  has  no  desire  to  say  or  do  any  thing  of  the  kind." 

"  Good ! "  exclaimed  the  student.  "  We  shall  not  see 
our  downy  bird  this  time.  And,  in  truth,  I  had  rather 
see  him  in  his  black  broadcloth  than  in  Dan  Smith's 
fancy  dress."  Many  of  the  crowd  seemed  of  the  same 
opinion ;  numbers  left  it,  and  took  the  way  to  their 
homes.  But  the  leaders  seemed  not  yet  satisfied. 

"  Judge  Hendrick,"  said  Mr.  Thompson,  "  the  inter- 
ests involved  in  the  gathering  of  this  occasion  are  too  im- 
portant to  be  left  undefended,  or  any  injury  to  them  un- 
vindicated  and  unavenged.  Notwithstanding  the  manner 
in  which  your  friend  —  if  it  is  not  disrespectful  to  you, 
sir,  to  speak  of  an  abolitionist  as  your  friend  —  has  spoken 
on  this  occasion " 

"  I  agree  fully  with  all  that  Mr.  Thompson  has  said," 
broke  in  Jones.  "  If  he  is  an  abolitionist,  he  can't  stay 
here.  As  Judge  Hendrick  stands  up  for  him,  we  may 
let  him  off,  I  suppose,  without  the  flogging  and  the  tar- 
kettle,  provided  we  are  assured  that  he  will  leave  the 
state  at  once." 

"  I  shall  leave  the  state,"  said  Bryant,  "  when  it  suits 
my  own  convenience." 

"  Bravely,   but    rather    rashly   said,"   remarked   the 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S    DAUGHTER.  157 

judge.  "  Mr.  Bryant,  gentlemen,  is  a  man  of  courage, 
and  you  will  not  think  the  worse  of  him  for  that.  But 
I  agree  with  you,  he  had  better  leave  the  city.  His  busi- 
ness here  is,  I  understand,  in  great  part  transacted  ;  and 
in  what  remains  of  it,  he  can  act  through  letters.  I 
pledge  myself  then,  gentlemen,  that  he  will  leave  the  city 
early  to-morrow  morning.  As  to  his  leaving  the  state,  I 
do  not  think,  gentlemen,  that  it  is  our  business  to  enforce 
that ;  but  I  willingly  receive  his  assurance  that  he  will 
do  so  as  soon  as  may  be,  consistently  with  his  own  con- 
venience." 

"  That's  putting  the  thing  rather  differently,"  said  the 
student.  "  Mr.  Bryant,  I  will  stand  by  you,  and,  if  any 
one  here  would  harm  a  hair  of  your  head,  he  will  have 
to  do  with  Ned  Elmsley  and  a  few  college  lads  that  go 
with  him  sometimes.  Logomachians,  to  the  rescue  ! "  he 
cried ;  and  the  air  rang  with  a  sudden  response  in  the 
same  words,  while  numbers  of  the  students  forced  their 
way  through  the  crowd,  and  gathered  at  the  foot  of  the 
piazza  steps. 

"  Fellow-citizens,"  said  Thompson,  "  we  are  assembled 
on  this  occasion  to  do  justice  on  a  person  accused  of  in- 
cendiary conduct.  Mr.  Elmsley,  and  you  gentlemen  of 
the  college,  you  will  not  surely  protect  such  a  person  !  " 

"  Drive  the  college  boys  home  to  their  mothers,"  cried 
Smith.  "  Down  with  the  abolitionist ! "  He  rushed  for- 
ward to  strike  at  Bryant,  but  was  intercepted  by  Elmsley. 
As  the  partisans  on  either  side  crowded  round,  leaving 
14 


158  HONOR;    OR, 

a  space  about  the  door,  the  judge  drew  Bryant  within  it, 
and  shut  and  locked  it.  It  was  done  so  suddenly,  that 
the  young  man  scarce  understood  the  action ;  but  in- 
stantly recovering  himself,  he  exclaimed,  "  I  must  not 
leave  my  ^defender  at  the  mercy  of  that  crowd,"  and  at- 
tempted to  unfasten  the  door. 

"  Come,"  said  the  judge,  "  don't  be  crazy.  You  will 
do  more  harm  than  good  by  staying.  The  college  boys 
will  take  care  of  their  comrade  ;  and  all  will  be  safe,  if 
you  are  only  out  of  the  way." 

Bryant  saw  the  necessity  of  yielding,  and  followed  the 
judge  as  he  went  quickly  through  the  house.  As  they 
passed  through  the  dining-room,  the  door  of  the  private 
parlor  was  open,  and  they  saw  Witham  standing  before  a 
desk,  from  which  he  was  taking  articles  of  value  to  se- 
cure them  from  the  mob. 

Most  southern  dwellings,  whether  large  or  small,  con- 
sist of  two  separate  portions  ;  one  for  the  white  members 
of  the  family,  and  one  for  the  colored.  In  the  most  re- 
cent clearing  of  the  interior  settlements,  the  log-cabins 
are  in  pairs,  one  square  room  being  provided  for  the  ac- 
commodation of  the  ruling  race,  and  another  for  their  de- 
pendants. If  these  are  connected  by  a  roof,  covering  the 
space  between,  that  space  answers  the  purposes  of  piazza, 
wash-room,  and  dining-room.  The  city  mansion  has  no 
slaves  lodged,  and  no  cooking  done,  within  its  proper  pre- 
cincts ;  but  beyond  a  court  in  its  rear  is  a  building  com- 
prising the  kitchen  and  the  servants'  rooms. 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  159 

In  such  a  building  the  wife  and  daughter  of  Witham 
had  taken  refuge,  when  the  shouts  and  menaces  of  the 
crowd  were  heard  in  front  of  the  hotel.  Lizzie,  relieved, 
in  part,  of  anxiety  on  Bryant's  account,  by  learning  from 
old  Cato  that  he  had  gone  to  Judge  Hendrick's,  had  sent 
to  him  thither  her  few  lines  of  timely  warning ;  and 
now  endeavored  to  still  the  beating  of  her  own  heart  by 
doing  what  she  could  to  cheer  her  step-mother. 

"  O,"  said  Mrs.  Witham,  "  Betsy,  what  will  become 
of  us  ?  There's  father  been  as  mad  as  a  March  hare  with 
Dan  Smith,  and  turned  him  out  of  the  house,  and  now, 
here's  Smith  come  back,  and  all  the  fellows  with  him,  a 
tearin'  and  a  ragin' !  And  it's  all  along  of  that  man  of 
yourn.  Why  couldn't  he  let  you  alone,  now  you  was 
with  us,  and  had  done  with  him  and  all  his  folks  ?  But  he 
must  be  runnin'  after  you,  and  puttin'  us  all  to  our  wit's 
end.  It's  a  bad  thing,  a  very  bad  thing,  Betsy,  to  have 
a  lot  of  young  men  a  danglin'  after  you." 

"  O,  if  I  was  sure  that  Frederick  was  safe  out  of  the 
way  !  "  said  Lizzie.  u  Let  him  be  once  gone,  once  safe, 
safe  home,  and  no  more  young  men  shall  give  you  trouble 
on  my  account." 

"  Why,  Betsy,  child,  don't  cry.  I  hope  your  man  will 
get  away  safe  ;  and  some  time  or  'nother  all  will  come 
right.  What  on  airth  was  it  he  and  father  fell  out  about? 
Something  of  his  abolution,  I  reckon.  But  abolution  or 
not,  he's  a  fine,  handsome  feller,  and  I  hope  he'll  be 
yourn  yet." 


160  HONOR)    OS, 

"  No,"  said  the  daughter ;  "  no  :  the  sooner  I  dismiss 
that  fancy,  the  better.  I  have  brought  him  nothing  but 
trouble  ;.  and  now  his  coming  to  me  here  has  brought  him 
danger,  and  what  people  call  disgrace.  I  hear  his  pure 
name  coupled  with  the  charge  of  being  a  base  incendiary. 
O,  if  he  quits  this  place,  let  him  never  come  near  the 
slave-dealer's  daughter  again.  Heaven  will  help  me  to 
bear  my  burden  alone,  and  may  his  course  be  as  happy 
as  it  will  always  be  noble." 

"  Never  happy,  unless  you  share  it,  dearest,"  said  a 
voice  outside  the  window  against  which  she  leaned.  Bry- 
ant, after  passing  through  the  house,  had  been  left  by  the 
judge,  while  he  went  to  see  if  his  servant  was  ready  with 
the  horse  which  he  had  directed  him  to  bring,  in  case  a 
quick  retreat  should  be  necessary. 

"  Frederick !  You  here  ?  "  said  Lizzie.  "  O,  why  did 
you  come  back  ?  Did  you  not  get  my  note  ?  " 

"  I  had  it,  and  I  shall  always  keep  it  as  a  dear  me- 
morial of  your  care  for  me  ;  but  I  felt  that  I  ought  to  be 
here,  and  face  the  danger.  Now  I  have  faced  it,  I  will 
be  as  prudent  as  my  friends  desire.  Only,  are  you  in 
safety  ?  Can  I  do  any  thing  to  protect  or  serve  you  ?  " 

"  No,  Frederick,  I  am  where  I  ought  to  be  ;  and,  if  I 
have  any  trials,  I  am  getting  used  to  them.  You  cannot 
help  any  one  here;  indeed,  your  presence  may  be  a 
source  of  danger  to  my  father.  My  love  to  dear  fa- 
ther and  mother  at  Irvine,  and  Heaven's  blessing  go 
with  you." 


THE  SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  161 

The  shouts  which  had  been  heard  indistinctly,  as  their 
sound  came  from  the  front  of  the  house,  now  burst  forth 
nearer  and  louder.  Some,  finding  the  door  locked  against 
them,  had  entered  the  house  through  the  windows  from 
the  piazza ;  others  were  coming  round,  outside  of  the 
building. 

"  One  parting  kiss,  my  heart's  best  love,"  said  Fred- 
erick. "  Life  together  on  earth,  if  it  be  Heaven's  will ; 
if  not,  hereafter." 

"  Hereafter,  forever,"  said  she,  as  she  stooped  towards 
him.  The  noise  increased.  "  Now  fly,"  she  exclaimed, 
as  she  saw  her  father  at  the  opposite  door. 

"Witham,  after  taking  the  property  and  papers  he 
wished  to  secure,  had  seized  a  pistol  to  protect  himself 
and  what  he  had  about  him  from  possible  danger  on  that 
wild  night,  and  was  now  hastening  to  join  his  wife  and 
child,  and  escape  with  them  from  the  building,  which 
some  of  the  rioters  had  threatened  to  burn.  He  witnessed 
the  kiss  of  parting  between  his  daughter  and  the  man 
whose  coming  had  brought  this  trouble  on  his  house,  the 
man  who  despised  his  trade,  and  had  scorned  his  offered 
gold.  Many  a  deed  of  blood  has  been  committed  because 
the  instrument  was  at  hand,  when  a  moment's  thought 
would  have  prevented  it.  Witham  uttered  a  deep  curse, 
raised  his  pistol,  and  fired.  At  that  moment,  a  man 
rushed  into  the  court  from  the  right,  with  the  cry,  "  Down 
with  the  Yankee  incendiary  !  "  met  Witham's  bullet,  and 
fell.  Bryant  reached  the  gate  on  the  left,  ran  past  the 
14* 


162  HONOR;   OR, 

private  jail,  and  found  at  the  stables  Judge  Hendrick  and 
his  servant. 

"  Take  this  horse,  and  ride  for  your  life,"  cried  the 
judge.  "  The  south  road  leads  to  Palmetto,  where  you 
will  meet  a  stage.  O,  don't  spend  time  in  thanking 
me,"  —  as  Bryant  began,  —  "  and  as  to  payment,  only 
write  me  how  you  get  along." 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  163 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

COUNTRY  LIVING  AND  RELIGION. 

REDERICK  BRYANT  waited  no  longer,  with 

a  hasty  grasp  of  the  hand  of  his  noble  friend, 
he  sprung  into  the  saddle.  The  horse,  excited 
by  the  shouts  and  the  flashing  lights  that  began  to  ap- 
pear, needed  no  spur.  The  rider's  mind  was  too  full  of 
other  thoughts  to  take  in  the  direction  which  had  been 
given  for  his  course ;  and  it  was  not  until  the  animal 
was  turning  up  the  avenue  to  Judge  Hendrick's  house, 
that  Bryant  recalled  the  necessity  of  a  decision.  Quickly 
checking  the  creature's  hopes  of  his  familiar  stable,  he 
pursued  the  road,  indifferent  whither  it  led  him,  and 
chafing  at  the  necessity  which  compelled  his  flight.  It 
galled  his  spirit  that  he  should  be  obliged  to  fly  before 
such  unworthy  foes.  How,  he  thought,  would  his  con- 
duct appear  to  the  young  man  who  had  so  bravely  taken 
his  part  ?  And  what  might  happen,  in  the  excitement  of 
that  hour,  to  endanger  her  he  loved  ?  More  than  once 
the  thought  arose  of  returning,  and  braving  every  danger, 
rather  than  desert  his  generous  defender  and  the  unfor- 


164  HONOR  i    OB, 

tunate  object  of  his  attachment.  But  reason  told  him 
that  to  both  of  these  his  absence  would  be  more  likely  to 
bring  safety  than  his  presence.  He  continued  on  his 
way,  therefore,  though  with  reduced  speed.  He  knew 
not  whither  he  was  going,  and  he  cared  not.  Love  and 
honor,  he  bitterly  thought,  lay  behind  him ;  it  was  cold 
duty  alone  that  beckoned  him  on.  If  pursued,  he  would 
struggle,  as  well  as  an  unarmed  man  could,  against  being 
captured ;  and  that  struggle  might  win  for  him  at  least 
a  pistol-ball,  instead  of  the  disgraceful  treatment  with 
which  he  had  been  threatened,  or  the  felon's  death,  which 
would  more  probably  be  his  doom,  if  he  now  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  infuriated  crowd. 

But  there  was  no  thought  of  pursuing  him.  The  feel- 
ings of  the  people  were  now  turned  towards  another 
object.  Death,  the  solemn  messenger  from  another 
world,  had  entered  the  scene  of  their  excitement,  and  all 
stood  in  awe  before  him.  Judge  Hendrick,  as  he  walked 
towards  his  home,  was  surprised  at  the  suddenness  with 
which  the  shouts  of  the  mob  died  away. 

Witham  had  been  found,  by  those  who  entered  the 
court,  standing  as  if  spell-bound,  with  the  pistol  in  his 
hand,  and  looking  with  an  expression  of  horror  upon  the 
man  who  lay  on  the  ground  before  him.  Turning  from 
the  vain  attempt  to  find  signs  of  life  in  Smith,  they  fiercely 
interrogated  the  tavern-keeper,  but  could  get  no  answer 
from  him.  He  suffered  the  pistol  to  be  taken  from  his 
hand  ;  and  it  was  passed  from  one  to  another,  each  one 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S    DAUGHTER.  165 

noticing  the  marks  of  its  recent  use.  Screams  from  the 
servants'  building,  at  first  scarcely  heard  in  the  greater 
interest  of  the  scene  before  them,  now  drew  the  attention 
of  all.  Jones  tried  the  door,  but  found  it  locked ;  and 
as  he  shook  it  to  obtain  entrance,  a  voice  called  to  him, 
"  Please  to  don't,  massa.  Young  missis  most  dead,  and 
ole  missis  takin'  on ;  please  go  'way  now,  please  go 
'way." 

"  Shut  up  about  your  old  missis  and  young  missis," 
replied  Jones.  "  Here,  some  of  you,  come  out  and  take 
care  of  poor  Smith." 

"  He's  past  taking  care  of,"  said  Thompson,  bending 
over  his  former  companion  with  real  feeling.  "  "Well, 
it's  an  awful  thing  to  go  so  suddenly." 

"  Why  don't  you  secure  the  murderer?"  said  one  of 
the  crowd. 

"  Send  for  the  coroner,"  cried  another. 

Both  suggestions  were  immediately  acted  on.  Several 
voices  at  once  told  Witham  that  he  must  consider  him- 
self a  prisoner  ;  and  without  a  word  of  remonstrance  or 
acquiescence,  he  went,  with  those  who  had  taken  his 
capture  upon  themselves,  into  the  inner  room,  and  sat 
down  near  the  desk,  from  which,  not  half  an  hour  before, 
he  had  taken  the  fatal  pistol.  Others  went  in  search  of 
the  coroner,  and,  after  some  delay,  returned  with  that 
officer.  He,  however,  decided  to  postpone  his  inquest  to 
the  following  day.  Some  needful  directions  were  now 
given,  and  the  hotel  was  left  in  charge  of  a  young  man 


166  HONOR;    OS, 

who  was  William's  assistant  in  his  bar.  In  one  room 
lay  the  body  of  the  slain  man,  watched  over  by  those 
who  had  been  the  partners  of  his  dissipation,  but  whose 
feelings  now,  touched  by  the  suddenness  of  his  death, 
raised  them  for  a  time  to  a  better  character.  The 
wretched  man  who  had  so  strangely  stained  his  hands 
in  blood,  cowered  in  another  room,  under  the  guard  of 
two  who  had  volunteered  to  keep  watch  over  him ;  and 
his  mourning  wife  and  daughter  had  been  left  to  the 
care  of  the  household  slaves. 

The  college  clock  had  struck  twelve,  when  the  senti- 
nel, who  now  alone  guarded  Witham's  sleepless  and 
speechless  rest,  —  for  the  other  had  lain  down  to  sleep, 
intending  to  take  his  turn  in  watching  afterwards,  — 
heard  a  gentle  tap  upon  the  door,  and,  opening  it,  saw  a 
pale  girl  with  a  lamp  in  her  hand. 

"  May  I  speak  with  my  father,  Mr.  Anderson  ?  "  she 
inquired. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  refuse  you,  Miss  Witham,"  said  the 
guard,  "  but  my  orders  were  to  let  no  one  see  him.  It 
is  late,  too,  and  you  have  had  an  exciting  time  ;  you  had 
better  go  to  bed." 

"  I  only  want  to  see  how  he  is,  and  speak  a  word  of 
comfort  to  him." 

The  guard  glanced  towards  his  prisoner,  and  thought 
it  might  be  well  if  any  thing  could  rouse  him  from  that 
hopeless  trance,  and  enable  him  to  give  some  account 


THE   SLAVE -DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  167 

of  what  had  happened.  He  replied,  therefore,  "  Come 
in,  then  ;  but  I  must  hear  what  you  say  together." 

Lizzie  looked  deprecatingly,  but  saw  it  was  in  vain 
to  object  to  this  condition.  She  advanced  gently  into 
the  room,  knelt  down  near  her  father,  and  took  his  hand 
in  hers.  Its  trembling  was  the  only  sign  that  he  was 
aware  of  her  presence. 

"  Father,"  she  began,  "  dear  father,  you  will  be  glad 
to  hear  that  mother  is  better.  She  has  been  quite  ill 
with  hysterics,  but  is  now  asleep." 

A  sigh  was  the  only  answer. 

"  I  have  not  been  well  myself, — that  is,  I  believe  I 
fainted  ;  but  I  am  well  now,  —  that  is,  better." 

It  was  not  now  a  sigh,  but  a  groan. 

"  Father," — and  she  hesitated,  —  "  do  not  trouble  your- 
self about  what  you  said  to  me.  I  know  that  it  cannot 
be  ;  it  ought  not  to  be  ;  I  will  try  to  feel  right  about  it. 
Father,  can  you  forgive  me  all  the  trouble  I  have  brought 
on  you  ?  " 

The  strong  man  groaned  again,  then  threw  his  arms 
around  her,  laid  his  head  on  her  fair  young  neck,  and 
burst  into  tears. 

But  had  she  then  forgotten  her  lover,  that  she  could 
pass  so  lightly  the  remembrance  that  her  father's  hand 
had  been  raised  against  his  life  ?  No ;  her  fainting 
had  prevented  an  accurate  knowledge  of  what  had 
happened.  Witham  conjectured  at  once  that  she  knew 


168  HONOR;    OE, 

not  with  what  intent  he  had  fired  the  pistol ;  and  he 
resolved  that,  as  far  as  depended  on  him,  she  should 
never  know. 

Meantime,  Frederick  Bryant  had  pursued  the  road 
which  chance  had  given  him,  till  night  had  gathered 
round ;  and  the  moon  soon  rising,  he  continued  to  ad- 
vance, in  hope  of  reaching  some  village,  whose  tavern 
would  afford  the  needed  rest  for  himself  and  his  horse. 
But  villages  in  the  Southern  States  are  of  rare  occur- 
rence, except  those  of  the  slaves,  which  exist  on  every 
large  plantation ;  and  though  in  the  upper  country  the 
slaves  are  fewer  in  proportion  than  on  the  seaboard,  the 
cabins  of  the  poorer  white  inhabitants  are  not  usually 
found  together,  but  widely  scattered.  At  length,  about 
midnight,  fatigue,  and  the  failure  to  find  a  better  resting- 
place,  induced  the  young  man  to  stop  before  a  log-cabin, 
which  stood,  with  its  rough  plank  door  and  unglazed 
window,  in  a  recent  clearing  by  the  road-side.  His  knock 
and  call  were  answered  by  a  man  who,  though  evidently 
ill  pleased  at  his  coming  so  late,  yet  did  not  refuse  to 
receive  him,  and  soon  came  out  to  take  care  of  the 
stranger's  horse.  The  rough  building  had  but  one  large 
room,  in  three  corners  of  which  were  beds,  completely 
shrouded  from  view  by  chintz  curtains.  In  one  of 
these  his  host  found  room  for  Bryant,  disturbing  for  a 
moment  the  sound  sleep  of  the  two  boys  that  occupied 
it  already.  He  threw  himself  on  his  scanty  portion  of 


THE   SLAVE -DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  169 

the  hard  couch,  dressed  as  he  was ;  and,  before  long, 
fatigue  of  body  and  of  mind  made  it  as  easy  to  him 
as  ever  had  been  the  best  accommodations  of  his  distant 
home. 

He  was  awakened  in  the  morning  by  the  sound  of 
voices,  and  of  persons  in  motion,  though  his  young  bed- 
fellows still  slept,  and,  looking  forth,  discovered  that  the 
hive  was  both  populous  and  busy.  The  mother  of  the 
family  and  her  two  girls  were  astir ;  and  his  host  was 
already  abroad  at  work.  Quickly  rising,  he  went  out, 
and  found  means  for  a  simple  toilet  in  the  form  of  a 
tin  basin  near  a  spring.  A  little  way  off,  he  saw  his 
entertainer,  and  accosted  him  with,  "  A  pleasant  morn- 
ing, my  friend." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  man,  "though  I  don't  like  the 
looks  of  that  cloud.  It's  larger  than  the  one  that  Elijah 
saw,  already,  for  that  was  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand ; 
and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  this  one  grew  as  fast,  and  came 
down  as  heavy." 

"  I  must  take  my  chance  of  it,  however.  I  judge, 
from  the  looks  of  your  clearing  here,  that  you  have  not 
lived  here  long." 

"  No,  sir  ;  I  came  from  the  Old  North  State." 

"What's  that?  New  Hampshire,  Vermont,  or 
Maine?" 

"  Not  quite  so  far,"  said  the  man,  with  a  smile  ;  "  we 
call  North  Ca'lina  the  Old  North  State;  and  a  good, 
15 


170  HONOR}    OR, 

steady  old  state  it  is ;  not  so  spry  and  restless  as  South 
Ca'lina,  and  not  troubled  with  quite  so  many  lazy,  worth- 
less slaves." 

"But  though  you  like  it  so  well,  you  came  away 
from  it." 

"  Yes,  I  thought  I'd  come  and  try  the  gold  region,  and 
so  I  settled  there  away  under  Mount  Yonah  ;  but  I  didn't 
like  the  company,  and  so  I  came  here.  I  said  to  them, 
as  Abraham  said  to  Lot,  '  If  you  will  go  to  the  east  I 
will  go  to  the  west.' " 

"  Why,  what  was  the  matter  with  the  company?" 

"  Too  much  drinking  and  gambling  for  my  taste.  The 
first  settlers  there  were  a  hard  set.  They  would  work 
all  day  to  dig  and  wash  a  little  gold-dust,  and  spend  the 
night  in  gambling  it  away.  And  then  came  another  set, 
that  brought  in  lots  of  slaves ;  and  I  want  to  bring  up 
my  boys  to  work,  not  to  be  ashamed  of  it,  and  leave  all 
work  to  the  niggers." 

"  I  should  think,  then,  you  would  have  gone  farther 
off,  to  the  free  states." 

"  No,  sir ;  I'm  a  southern  man,  any  how.  There's 
plenty  of  room  round  here  ;  and  then  there's  some  dear 
brethren  that  I  like  to  be  near." 

"Brethren?" 

"  Yes,  brethren  in  religion,  I  mean.  I'm  what  they 
call  a  Christian." 

"  Christian !     I  hope  we  all  are  Christians." 


V 

THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  171 

"  Well,  I  wish  we  all  were,  I'm  sure.  But  there's  a 
set  of  us  people  round  here,  and  more  off  at  the  West, 
that  don't  believe  in  having  any  name  of  a  sect,  but 
Christian  ;  and  I'm  one  of  them." 

"  Indeed  !     Do  you  preach  among  them  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  I  do ;  but  I'm  not  a  regular  preacher. 
You  see,  I  have  my  family  and  my  little  place  here  to 
take  care  of,  and  I  can't  spare  time  to  ride  round  on  a 
circuit.  I'm  afraid  I  shan't  be  able  even  to  go  to  the 
camp-meeting  to-day,  over  at  Henderson ;  but  I  expect 
to  be  there  to-morrow,  and  take  the  folks  with  me. 
But  there's  wife  blowing  the  horn  for  us  to  come  in  to 
breakfast." 

The  breakfast,  neat,  simple,  and  substantial,  was  pref- 
aced by  a  prayer  from  the  farmer  preacher ;  and  after 
the  refreshment  Bryant  departed,  his  host  receiving,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  the  payment  which  he  offered  for  his 
entertainment. 

"  I  think  you'd  better  not  travel,  with  that  cloud  over 
you,"  said  he  ;  "  but  if  you  must  go,  and  mean  to  keep 
on  this  road,  it  will  lead  you  directly  to  Henderson,  where 
our  camp-meeting  is  ;  and  if  you  stop  there,  and  see  Colo- 
nel Freeman,  —  he's  one  of  the  deacons,  and  lives  close 
by  the  camp-ground,  —  you  can  tell  him  that  you  saw 
brother  Sheridan,  and  that  he  sent  him  his  love,  and 
hopes  to  be  there  to-morrow,  and  to  receive  a  bless- 
ing." 


172  HONOR;   OR, 

Parting  with  the  worthy  settler,  Bryant  pursued  his 
way.  What  should  be  his  ultimate  course  he  was  yet 
uncertain ;  but  for  the  present,  the  road  that  led  most 
directly  from  Tusculum  seemed  the  safest.  He  had  not 
travelled  far,  however,  when  the  warning  of  his  host 
proved  to  have  been  correctly  given.  Rain  began  to  fall, 
at  first  in  scattered  drops,  then  in  an  increasing  shower, 
and  finally  in  a  steady,  unceasing  deluge.  Wet  to  the 
skin,  he  rode  on,  mile  after  mile,  without  seeing  any  place 
of  shelter.  At  length  a  building  near  the  road-side,  re- 
minding him  in  its  appearance  of  a  northern  country 
school-house,  gave  some  promise  ;  and  his  horse,  less  from 
the  guiding  rein  than  his  own  choice,  turned  with  hasty 
feet  toward  the  adjoining  shed.  Bryant  dismounted, 
and  knocked  in  vaiaU  at  the  door.  He  then  tried  to  open 
it ;  but  it  was  locked,  and  the  shutters,  which  covered  the 
apertures  for  light,  were  fastened  within.  It  was,  in  fact, 
a  country  church  ;  but  supposing  it  to  be  a  dwelling,  he 
concluded  that  its  occupants  had  gone  to  the  neighboring 
meeting,  and,  after  allowing  his  horse  a  little  time  to 
rest,  continued  his  journey  through  the  rain. 

The  middle  of  the  day  brought  him  to  the  camping 
ground.  The  road  through  the  woods  suddenly  expanded, 
and  he  saw  before  him  what  seemed  a  village  ;  for  the 
log-houses  differed  but  little  from  those  which  he  had  seen 
before  as  permanent  dwellings.  In  the  centre  of  the  wide 
space  which  these  huts  surrounded,  were  rows  of  benches, 


THE  SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  173 

fronting  a  stand  for  preaching,  —  but  stand  and  benches 
were  alike  unoccupied  ;  while  the  worshippers  were  con- 
ducting their  services  under  shelter  from  the  still  un- 
abated rain.  From  one  of  the  huts  Bryant  caught  the 
chorus  of  a  hymn,  sung  by  numerous  voices  :  — 

"  Brethren,  pray,  and  holy  manna 
Shall  come  streaming  all  around." 

Some,  whose  duty  it  was  to  receive  visitors  to  the  re- 
ligious encampment,  came  forth  at  the  sound  of  his  horse's 
feet,  and  welcomed  him  with  compassion  for  his  dripping 
condition.  His  inquiry  for  Colonel  Freeman,  and  his 
mention  of  the  name  of  his  entertainer  of  last  night,  made 
his  reception  still  more  cordial ;  and  though  he  made 
haste  to  explain  that  he  was  only  a  passing  traveller,  and 
not  of  their  sect,  he  lost  nothing  by  his  sincerity.  He 
was  at  once  ushered  to  Colonel  Freeman's,  a  large  and 
plain,  though  well-built  house,  near  the  camp-ground,  where 
he  was  supplied  with  dry  clothing,  and  soon  called  to  meet 
the  colonel  and  a  large  company  at  an  abundant  meal. 

It  was  impossible  for  him  to  continue  his  journey  that 
day,  had  he  been  more  disposed  than  he  was  to  refuse 
the  hospitality  which  urged  his  remaining.  After  dinner, 
therefore,  he  went  out  with  his  entertainer,  and  visited 
one  of  the  booths,  where,  when  they  arrived,  religious 
services  had  already  been  resumed.  They  were  con- 
ducted in  an  earnest  though  simple  manner ;  and  if  the 
language  of  some  uneducated  preacher  would  at  times 
15* 


174  HONOR;   OR, 

excite  a  smile,  the  sentiments  expressed  were  such  as 
every  Christian  heart  could  unite  in.  There  were  a  few 
slaves  present,  the  servants  of  Colonel  Freeman,  and  of 
others  in  the  neighborhood  ;  but  they  were  present  as  fel- 
low-worshippers, and  were  addressed  by  one  of  the  speak- 
ers with  kind  words,  and  in  a  manner  which  showed  that 
the  ^recognition  of  spiritual  fraternity  was  not  in  words 
alone.  There  seemed  to  be  no  regular  order  of  services 
in  the  meeting,  —  prayer,  singing,  and  exhortation  suc- 
ceeding each  other,  at  the  option  of  those  who  were  pre- 
pared to  lead  in  either.  Once,  when  a  brother,  having 
exhausted  his  stock  of  thoughts,  was  continuing  his 
address  in  wearisome  repetition,  Bryant  was  surprised 
and  amused  at  the  sudden  raising  of  a  psalm  tune  by 
another  preacher;  the  audience  joined  in  the  singing, 
and  the  speaker  stopped  without  any  appearance  of  irri- 
tation. 

The  rain  had  ceased  ;  and,  after  the  evening  meal,  the 
company  from  all  the  booths  gathered  in  the  central  en- 
closure. Several  preachers,  in  turn,  occupied  the  stand ; 
and  the  religious  feeling,  strengthened  by  the  sympathy 
of  numbers,  displayed  itself  in  fervent  addresses,  prayers, 
and  singing,  and  in  the  tears  on  many  cheeks.  Bryant 
himself  was  deeply  moved.  The  last  night,  he  had 
yielded  to  despondency,  so  far  as  to  forget  that  providen- 
tial care  which  watches  constantly  over  the  course  of  vir- 
tue. Now,  the  affectionate  pleadings  of  these  uncultivated 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  175 

speakers,  and  the  deep  emotion  of  their  rustic  audience, 
at  once  reproved  his  unbelief,  and  softened  his  heart  to 
acknowledge  and  to  trust  in  the  Friend  who  is  ever 
near. 

After  the  meeting,  he  sought  a  private  interview  with 
his  hospitable  entertainer,  and  told  him  frankly  of  his  im- 
prudent conversation  with  a  slave,  of  the  suspicion  which 
had  consequently  fallen  upon  him,  and  of  the  aid  which 
Judge  Hendrick  had  given  him  for  leaving  Tusculum. 
He  inquired  if  he  could  find  the  means  of  sending  back 
to  the  judge  his  horse,  and  of  purchasing  another,  or  oth- 
erwise continuing  his  journey.  There  was  something  in 
Bryant's  open  manliness  which  always  won  the  hearts  of 
those  who,  like  himself,  were  true  ;  and  Colonel  Freeman 
readily  undertook  to  aid  his  stranger  guest  in  what  he 
wished  to  accomplish.  Arrangements  were  made  the 
next  morning  for  sending  the  horse  to  Tusculum ;  and 
Bryant,  in  his  letter  of  thanks  to  Judge  Hendrick,  gave 
directions  for  forwarding  to  New  York  the  baggage  he  had 
left  at  the  hotel,  and  requested  intelligence  of  occurrences 
since  his  departure.  He  enclosed  a  bank  note  to  cover 
expenses,  requesting  his  friend  to  use  what  might  remain 
of  it  for  some  purchase  which  should  preserve  the  mem- 
ory of  one  who  owed  so  much  to  his  generous  protection. 
The  colonel  furnished  Bryant,  on  moderate  terms,  with 
another  horse,  shook  him  cordially  by  the  hand,  and  saw 
him  depart  on  the  road  to  Knoxville,  Tennessee. 


176  HONOR;    OR, 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

AN  INDIAN  CHIEF  AND  A  STRAY  POET. 

course  which  our  traveller  was  now  directed 
to  pursue,  lay  somewhat  west  of  that  which  his 
friend  Stevens  had  taken,  when  continuing  his 
summer  ramble  into  the  region  of  the  gold  mines.  The 
road  to  Knoxville  lay  through  the  section  of  country  still 
mostly  inhabited  by  the  Cherokee  tribe  of  Indians, 
though  it  had  been  already  surveyed  and  disposed  of 
by  lottery  among  the  white  inhabitants  of  the  state. 
The  portions  of  land  actually  cultivated  by  the  Indians 
were,  indeed,  considered  as  their  property,  with  whatever 
buildings  they  had  erected.  But  as  it  was  not  the  policy 
of  the  state  to  encourage  their  remaining,  these  also  had 
been  included  in  the  lottery  ;  so  that  each  Indian's  farm 
had  a  claimant  ready  to  take  possession  of  it  as  soon  as 
the  present  owner  should  remove.  Some  years  later, 
arrangements  were  made  by  which  the  Indians  received 
compensation  for  their  improvements,  and  consented  to 
emigrate  to  the  region  provided  for  them  beyond  the 
Mississippi. 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  177 

It  was  not  until  the  second  day  after  leaving  Hender- 
son, that  Bryant  forded  the  Chattahoochee,  and  entered 
the  Indian  country.  He  soon  saw  that  it  had  already 
begun  to  be  occupied  by  the  more  powerful  race.  He 
overtook  a  party,  consisting  of  three  families,  who  were , 
on  their  way  to  occupy  the  portions  of  land  which  had 
fallen  to  them  in  the  lottery.  They  were  travelling  with 
large  covered  wagons,  which  served  the  purpose  of  tents 
for  shelter  when  they  rested  at  night.  Only  one  family 
had  slaves  ;  and  these,  a  woman  and  her  boy,  seemed  to 
be  on  very  familiar  terms  with  their  owners.  Bryant 
had  already  observed  a  great  difference,  in  this  respect, 
between  the  slaves  of  small  proprietors  and  the  numer- 
ous servants  on  a  .large  estate.  Passing  these,  he  trav- 
elled for  some  time  in  solitude.  Then  another  river  was 
to  be  forded,  and  on  its  opposite  bank  he  found  an  Indian 
village.  It  was  composed  mostly  of  simple  huts,  resem- 
bling the  log-cabins  of  the  border  settlers ;  but  among 
them  were  some  houses  of  commodious  size  and  neat 
appearance ;  and  the  brown  faces  that  appeared  at  the 
doors  and  windows  of  some  among  them  showed  that 
these  also  were  dwellings  of  the  Cherokees.  The  men 
whom  Bryant  saw  were  clothed  partly  like  their  white 
neighbors  ;  but  the  leggings  of  deer-skin,  and  the  blanket 
worn  instead  of  a  coat,  were  marks  of  a  different  race. 
The  heads  of  both  males  and  females  were  generally 
uncovered,  the  blanket  serving  for  a  hood,  in  case  such 
protection  was  needed.  A  few  men,  however,  were  seen 


178  HONOR*,    OR, 

dressed  entirely  in  the  manner  of  the  whites  ;  and  on  the 
other  hand,  Bryant  met  afterwards  an  Indian  adorned 
with  feathers  and  wampum,  in  the  true  aboriginal  style. 
In  the  centre  of  the  village  was  a  neat  building,  which 
answered  the  purpose  of  church  and  court-house,  com- 
bined. Our  traveller  made  no  stay  in  this  village,  as  he 
had  been  directed  to  the  home  of  a  friendly  chief,  some 
miles  farther  on. 

It  was  towards  evening  that  he  came  upon  a  group  of 
persons  evidently  returning  from  a  successful  day's  hunt- 
ing. A  man  and  boy,  in  the  common  clothing  of  work- 
ing people  among  the  whites,  were  carrying  quantities 
of  birds,  hares,  and  squirrels,  while  two  negroes  followed, 
bearing  each  a  rifle  over  one  shoulder,  while  over  the 
other  was  the  end  of  a  stake,  held  horizontally  between 
them,  and  supporting  the  carcass  of  a  deer.  Bryant  had 
heard  already  that  slavery  had  been  adopted  by  the 
Indians  from  their  white  neighbors. 

The  party  stopped  on  seeing  the  traveller,  and  he 
thought  the  looks  of  the  older  Indian  betokened  little 
pleasure  in  meeting  a  white  man  in  the  midst  of  his 
hunting-grounds.  Bryant  saluted  him  courteously,  and 
inquired  if  there  was  any  place  near,  where  he  could  find 
provision  for  himself  and  his  horse. 

"  None  here  but  Indian,"  said  the  man,  gruffly. 
."  When  white  man  come  to  Indian  country,  he  take  care 
of  himself ;  he  camp  out.  No  expect  Indian  take  care  of 
him." 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  179 

"  But  I  do  expect  the  Indians  to  take  care  of  me  to- 
night," said  Bryant,  good-naturedly  ;  "  for  I  have  been 
travelling  a  long  way,  and  must  go  a  long  way  farther, 
before  I  get  out  of  your  country." 

"  You  go  across,  den?  May  be  you  come  to  look  out 
your  lot?" 

"  No  ;  I  am  going  across  to  Tennessee.  I  came  from 
Henderson,  and  Colonel  Freeman  told  me  I  could  find 
accommodations  with  John  Coombs,  a  chief  man  among 
your  people." 

"  Colonel  Freeman  send  you?  Colonel  Freeman  good 
man.  I  John  Coombs,  and  if  colonel  send  you,  all 
right.  Come  along  wid  me." 

Bryant  followed  this  guide,  of  a  race  he  had  never 
seen  till  that  day,  going  back  over  a  portion  of  the  road 
he  had  passed.  The  chief  had  the  copper  color,  the 
straight  black  hair,  high  but  receding  forehead,  and  prom- 
inent cheek  bones,  which  he  had  often  seen  in  pictures 
of  Indians.  His  questions,  as  they  walked,  showed  that 
he  still  regarded  Bryant  with  some  suspicion ;  but  by 
degrees  this  cleared  away,  and  but  for  the  slight  imper- 
fection of  his  English,  his  visitor  might  have  thought 
himself  still  in  the  company  of  the  cordial  and  intelligent 
circle  from  whom  he  had  recently  parted. 

At  length  they  reached  a  point  in  the  road  from  which 
an  opening  through  the  trees  disclosed  a  clearing,  with  a 
neat  house,  of  two  stories,  built  in  southern  fashion,  its 
broad  piazzas  covered  by  the  advancing  roof,  and  its 


180  HONOR;    OR, 

chimneys  projecting  at  the  sides.  Bryant  wondered  that 
he  had  not  seen  this  dwelling  as  he  passed  before  ;  but  a 
look  in  the  opposite  direction  recalled  to  his  memory  how 
his  attention  had  been  then  engrossed  by  the  lovely 
scenery  that  opened  to  his  view,  where  the  woods,  par- 
tially cleared  for  Coombs's  plantation,  had  allowed  the 
eye  to  rest  on  the  north-eastern  mountains. 

Entering  the  house,  he  found  it  furnished  in  the  same 
style  with  the  better  class  of  country  dwellings  in  the 
regions  through  which  he  had  passed,  even  to  the  luxury 
of  a  piano,  upon  which  the  daughter  of  his  host  played 
the  popular  songs,  for  the  gratification  of  her  father's 
guest.  When  she  was  gone,  Bryant  could  not  but 
express  his  pleasure  and  surprise. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  mother,  sadly ;  "  she  is  too  fine 
a  girl  to  be  sent  off  among  the  wild  Indians  out  in  the 
West." 

In  the  evening,  his  host,  learning  from  Bryant  that  he 
was  from  a  different  section  of  the  country,  entered  into 
the  history  of  the  recent  events  relating  to  his  tribe..  He 
told  of  the  progress  they  had  made  in  the  arts  of  life,  of 
their  adoption  of  a  regular  republican  form  of  govern- 
ment, and  of  the  increased  desire,  on  the  part  of  their 
white  neighbors,  for  their  removal  on  that  very  account, 
as  they  did  not  wish  to  have  within  their  state  limits  a 
permanent  population  of  a  different  race,  and  exercising 
independent  authority.  He  told  how  near  the  state  had 
come  to  actual  collision  with  the  United  States  upon  the 


TSE   SLAVE-DEALER'S.  DAUGHTER.  181 

subject,  and  how,  subsequently,  the  discovery  of  gold  in 
the  Indian  country  had  brought  in  upon  them  crowds  of 
adventurers.  Bryant  had  been  assured  by  Judge  Hen- 
drick  and  Colonel  Freeman,  that  it  was,  in  part,  to  guard 
the  Indians  from  these  intruders  that  the  legislature  of 
the  state  had  prohibited,  for  a  time,  the  residence  of  any 
white  man  among  them.  His  host  now  told,  with  deep 
emotion,  how  the  missionaries,  whom  they  regarded  as 
their  greatest  benefactors,  had,  in  their  zeal  for  the  good 
of  their  converts,  violated  the  provisions  of  this  law,  and 
were  at  that  very  time  enduring  imprisonment  in  the 
state  penitentiary  ;  and  he  owned  that  the  necessity  was 
becoming  more  and  more  apparent  for  the  remnant  of 
their  people  to  emigrate  to  the  West.  Bryant  recognized 
in  the  account  a  new  version  of  the  same  tale  which  the 
history  of  the  older  states  discloses  —  that  the  Indian 
race  recedes  before  the  advancing  Saxon  with  such  sad 
fatality,  that  even  improvement  on  the  humbler  side,  and 
the  endeavor  to  do  justice  on  the  other,  seem  almost  to 
hasten  the  ruin  they  should  delay. 

The  evening  meal  was  followed  by  the  evening  prayer, 
for  none  are  more  zealous  than  recent  converts  in  the 
externals  of  religion  ;  and  the  patience  of  the  Cherokees 
in  after  years,  when  their  wilder  neighbors,  the  Creeks, 
flew  to  arms,  showed  that  their  conversion  had  not  been 
to  external  forms  alone.  In  the  morning,  after  a  plenti- 
ful repast,  the  traveller  felt  some  doubt  whether  it  would 
be  proper  to  offer  to  his  host  —  a  man  of  distinction 
16 


182  HONOR  i    OR, 

among  his  people  —  any  payment  for  the  refreshment  he 
had  supplied.  He  made  the  tender,  however,  and  was 
glad  to  find  it  accepted ;  for  in  a  .thinly-settled  country 
the  traveller  might  fare  ill  if  he  were  not  at  liberty  to 
ask  for  food  and  lodging  at  any  house  ;  and  he  can  only 
feel  this  liberty  upon  the  understanding  that  compensation 
will  be  received. 

After  leaving  the  house  of  the'  friendly  Indian,  Bryant 
pursued  his  way  through  woods,  interrupted  at  rare  inter- 
vals by  clearings.  At  times  he  stopped,  to  buy  at  some 
cabin  the  simple  refreshment  it  might  be  able  to  sup- 
ply. Towards  evening,  he  judged,  from  the  knowledge 
of  distances  which  he  had  obtained,  that  he  was  near  the 
boundary  of  Tennessee,  if  he  had  not  already  crossed  it ; 
and  he  began  to  hope  that  he  soon  should  see  some  cottage 
where  he  might  pass  the  night. 

While  these  thoughts  were  in  his  mind,  a  turn  of  the 
road  brought  him  in  sight  of  a  group  of  men  equipped  as 
soldiers,  except  that  they  were  not  in  uniform.  Some 
were  seated  or  stretched  at  length  on  the  ground ;  others 
were  leaning  on  their  muskets,  or  slowly  walking  while 
they  talked  with  each  other.  At  the  sight  of  Bryant,  the 
attention  of  all  was  fixed  upon  him ;  and  while  some 
loudly  called  to  him  to  halt,  they  handled  their  arms  in  a 
manner  which  showed  they  were  prepared  to  enforce 
their  order.  Bryant  wonderingly  obeyed,  and,  as  they 
approached,  inquired  of  the  foremost  by  what  authority 
they  stopped  a  passenger  upon  the  highway. 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  183 

"  By  the  authority  of  the  State  of  Georgia,"  said  the 
leader.  "  I  am  captain  of  the  Georgia  Guard  ;  and  our 
orders  are  to  keep  suspicious  persons  from  entering  the 
Indian  country." 

"  But  I  am  leaving  it,  not  entering  it,"  replied  Bryant ; 
"  so,  whether  a  suspicious  person  or  not,  your  orders 
cannot  apply  to  me." 

"  I  shall  judge  of  that  myself,"  said  the  officer,  conse- 
quentially. "  If  a  man  has  been  doing  mischief  in  the 
Indian  country,  I  shall  see  that  he  does  not  leave  it  very 
easily.  Where  are  you  from,  and  where  are  you 
going?" 

"  I  am  last  from  the  camp-meeting  at  Henderson,  and 
I  am  travelling  to  Knoxville." 

"  Are  you  a  preacher?"  said  the  man,  with  a  con- 
temptuous laugh.  "  You  don't  look  much  like  one  ;  but 
if  you  are,  we've  had  enough  of  preachers  in  the  Indian 
country,  stirring  up  the  red-skins  to  rebellion.  Where 
did  you  sleep  last  night  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  a  preacher,  and  I  slept  at  Mr.  Coombs's." 

"  Mister  Coombs !  John  Coombs,  the  old  red-skin, 
called  Mister!  Well,  friend,  go  on;  you're  giving  a 
pretty  good  account  of  yourself !  Come  all  this  way 
from  a  camp-meeting,  but  not  a  preacher ;  spent  last 
night  at  an  Indian's,  and  talk  about  him  as  if  he  was  a 
gentleman  !  Let's  hear  some  more,  now.  Do  you  live 
at  Knoxville,  or  at  Henderson  ?  " 

"  Where  I  live  is   none   of  your   business,"   replied 


184  HONOR;    OR, 

Bryant,  indignantly.  "  I  am  travelling  on  my  own 
affairs,  and  simply  passing  through  the  country  which 
you  are  pretending  to  guard.  In  half  an  hour  I  should 
be  out  of  it,  if  I  am  not  in  fact  through  it  already." 

"  Whether  you're  through  it  or  not  makes  no  differ- 
ence. A  man  can't  come  it  over  me  about  being  on  the 
wrong  side  of  a  line  drawn  through  the  woods,  as  I  told 
that  crazy  fellow  the  other  day.  I  reckon  we  must  take 
you  to  keep  company  with  him  at  the  guard-house.  Your 
answers  are  not  satisfactory,  young  man,  and  you  must 
just  dismount  and  be  searched." 

Bryant  saw  that  it  was  in  vain  to  resist,  and  to  save 
the  indignity  of  a  search,  produced  what  he  had  about 
him.  When  he  saw  his  pocket-book  opened  by  the 
officer,  he  fully  expected  that  it  would  be  lightened  of 
some  of  its  bank  notes.  His  suspicion  wronged  the  man, 
however,  for  he  was  only  doing  what  he  supposed  to  be 
his  duty,  though  in  a  pompous  and  ungracious  manner. 
He  looked  at  the  money,  evidently  with  some  surprise  at 
its  amount,  and  then  examined  the  miscellaneous  papers 
which  the  book  contained.  Some  "  Notes  in  the  case  of 
Maxwell  versus  Allen,"  and  some  "  Verses  to  a  Loved 
One  far  away,"  were  but  slightly  looked  at.  The  receipts 
attracted  more  notice ;  the  officer  spoke  with  one  of  his 
men,  and  pointed  to  him  the  date  of  "  Boston."  But 
what  confirmed  their  suspicions  fully  was  a  piece  of 
paper,  which,  having  once  been  wet  through  with  the 
rain,  had  been  carefully  dried,  and  placed  in  the  inmost 


THE   SLAVE -DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  185 

fold  of  the  pocket-book.  It  was  Lizzie's  note  to  her 
lover  on  the  evening  of  the  naob.  The  officer  made  out 
the  faded  pencil-marks  with  some  difficulty,  but  on  read- 
ing them,  exclaimed,  — 

"  '  Crowd  of  people  surrounding  the  house/  '  abolition- 
ist ! '  '  escape  ! '  This  tells  the  story.  You've  just  got 
away  from  being  lynched  ;  and  I  reckon  you  deserved  it. 
I  arrest  you  as  a  suspicious  character,  and  shall  detain 
you  till  I  receive  instructions  from  his  excellency  the 
governor." 

Much  to  his  vexation,  our  traveller  found  himself 
obliged  to  accompany  his  new  acquaintances  to  the  cabin 
they  occupied  as  a  guard-house.  It  was  of  logs,  having 
a  chimney  built  of  slabs  and  plastered  inside  with  clay, 
and  was  furnished  with  an  unglazed  window  in  front. 
Other  similar  huts  were  near,  for  the  accommodation  of 
the  soldiers.  A  sentinel  was  before  the  door  ;  and  seated 
on  the  step  was  a  man  of  middle  age,  whose  appearance 
in  such  a  scene  struck  Bryant  with  some  surprise.  His 
dress,  though  bearing  marks  of  rough  living,  was 
such  as  indicated  the  gentleman,  fashioned  with  that 
attention  to  comfort  more  than  show  that  is  rather 
English  than  American.  His  face  showed  boldness, 
intelligence,  and  humor.  He  was  talking  familiarly 
with  the  sentinel ;  and  if  he  was  a  prisoner,  one  might 
judge  that  he  was  one  who  could  relieve  the  tediousness 
of  his  confinement  by  a  lively  temperament  and  a  playful 
fancy. 

16* 


186  HONOR}    OR, 

"  Here  comes  our  illustrious  captain,"  said  he,  as  the 
party  drew  near;  "and  by  all  that  is  valiant,  he  has 
taken  another  prisoner.  I  welcome  you,  sir,  to  my  hith- 
erto solitary  cell." 

"  Sentinel,"  said  the  captain,  "  do  you  not  know  it  is 
against  my  orders  for  you  to  have  any  talk  with  your 
prisoner  ?  " 

"  Beg  pardon,  cap'n,"  said  the  man,  trying  to  smother 
a  laugh  ;  "but  he's  so  droll." 

"  Be  not  indignant,  most  valiant  captain,"  said  the 
man  upon  the  door-step.  "  I  must  speak  to  you  in 
Ercles'  vein,  for  that  alone  suits  one  so  great  as  you.  I 
consider  you  the  greatest  man  I  ever  saw." 

"  I  cannot  allow  such  remarks,"  said  the  officer,  hold- 
ing his  head  somewhat  higher,  however,  and  not  ill 
pleased  at  the  sarcastic  flattery.  He  continued,  "  You 
will  have  a  companion  in  the  guard-house,  sir.  This 
man,  like  yourself,  has  been  stopped  under  suspicious 
circumstances,  and  will  be  detained  until  we  receive 
further  orders." 

"And  when  will  your  further  orders  arrive,  most 
excellent  captain?"  said  the  gentleman.  "Here  have 
I,  for  three  days  already,  played  the  part  of  a  captive 
Conrad,  or  a  prisoner  of  Chillon,  to  quote  my  old 
acquaintance,  Lord  Byron " 

"  "We  shall  hear  to-morrow.  I  have  reported  to  the 
governor,  and  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  order  you  to  be 
sent  to  him  at  Milledgeville  for  examination." 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  187 

"  And  you  look  to  be  either  earl  or  duke,  for  catching 
me,  as  Jack  Falstaff  did  for  killing  Percy !  But  no 
dignity,  captain,  could  possibly  increase  your  greatness." 

The  officer  made  no  answer  to  this  compliment,  but 
having  posted  another  sentinel,  left  the  two  prisoners  to 
make  acquaintance  with  each  other.  The  first  occupant 
of  the  gua^d-house  courteously  shared  with  Bryant  such 
means  of  comfort  as  the  place  afforded ;  and  a  sol- 
dier soon  appeared,  bringing  their  evening  meal.  The 
salt  p'ork  and  bread,  and  the  tin  cups  of  coffee,  were  not 
unacceptable  ;  and  after  they  had  supped,  Bryant  inquired 
of  his  new  companion  how  he  had  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  the  guard.  '  *v ' 

*'  By  my  own  wandering  disposition,"  he  answered  ;  "  a 
disposition  that  has  led  me  into  all  sorts  of  places  since  I 
left  my  father's  school-house  in  Berry  Street,  Boston.  It 
has  carried  me  to  half  the  capitals  of  Europe,  and  now  it 
has  made  me  prisoner  to  this  redoubtable  Captain  Boba- 
dil  of  the  Georgia  Guard.  I  have  been  travelling  in  the 
West,  from  Ohio  to  Tennessee,  collecting  subscribers  for 
my  new  magazine  ;  and  I  must  needs  come  into  this  In- 
dian country,  to  see  what  sort  of  beings  the  aborigines 
made  when  they  were  half  civilized.  I  thought  I  might 
make  a  story,  or  a  play,  or  an  article  out  of  it ;  and  true 
enough,  I  have  made  one,  with  myself  and  Captain  Bob- 
adil  for  the  heroes." 

"  I  agree  with  you  that  the  pomposity  of  the  captain  is 
rather  diverting." 

"  The  greatest  man  I  ever  saw,  —  actually  the  greatest. 


188  HONOR;    OR, 

I  have  seen  George  the  Fourth  ;  and  his  brother,  the  pres- 
ent king  ;  and  Napoleon  the  Great ;  and  old  Louis  le  De- 
sire ;  and  ever  so  many  others ;  but  the  majesty  of  this 
man  goes  beyond  them  all." 

At  this  moment  the  sentinel  before  their  open  door 
commenced  singing.  Bryant  was  beginning  to  speak, 
but  his  companion  signed  to  him  to  be  silent.  He  lis- 
tened with  a  smile  as  if  of  pleasure  ;  then  suddenly  tears 
came  into  his  eyes.  Bryant  looked  on  him  with  sur- 
prise, for  the  melody  and  words,  though  beautiful,  were 
familiar ;  they  were  sung  all  over  the  country ;  for  it 
was  "Sweet  Home." 

"  Ah,v  thought  the  young  man,  "he  is  thinking  of  a 
sweet  home  of  his  own,  to  which  this  dreary  place  is  a 
sad  contrast."  But  he  did  not  penetrate  the  depth  of  his 
fellow-prisoner's  feeling. 

As  the  strain  ended,  the  man  who  had  been  so  moved 
by  it  asked  the  sentinel,  "  Do  you  know  who  wrote  those 
lines?" 

"  No,"  said  the  man,  betrayed,  by  the  suddenness  of 
the  question,  into  forgetfulness  of  the  rule  against  con- 
versing with  those  under  guard. 

"  I  did,"  rejoined  the  prisoner.  The  sentinel  looked 
surprised  and  respectful ;  but  he  had  by  this  time  remem- 
bered his  orders,  and  in  silence  resumed  his  walk. 

"  You  wrote  them  !  "  said  Bryant.  "Is  it  possible? 
Are  you  then  Mr.  John  Howard  Payne  ?  " 

"  You  have  heard  of  me  then  ?  "  said  the  poet.  "  Hear- 
ing that  man  sing,  brought  back  the  memory  of  for- 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  189 

mer  days  so  strongly  that  it  almost  unmanned  me.  I 
have  written  about  home,  and  where  have  I  a  home 
now?" 

"  The  author  of  «  Brutus/  the  author  of  those  lines, 
must  have  a  home  in  every  American  heart." 

"  Thank  you  for  saying  so,"  replied  Payne  ;  "  but  this 
does  not  look  like  it.  But  come  ;  as  it  is  growing  cold,  let 
us  shut  that  window  and  door.  There  is  something  to 
answer  for  a  fireplace  here  ;  and  I  have  a  box  of  the  new 
invented  matches,  that  kindle  by  rubbing.  So  we  will  sit 
together  on  these  blocks,  and  talk  over  our  past  adven- 
tures. How  is  it  that  you  came  into  the  hands  of  the 
Philistines  ?  Have  you  been  stirring  up  the  Indians,  or 
meddling  with  the  blacks  ?  " 

Bryant  gave  an  outline  of  his  story  ;  and  then,  at  his 
request,  the  poet  related  some  of  the  incidents  in  his  own 
life,  from  those  early  days  when  he  marshalled  the  boys 
of  his  father's  school  in  mimicry  of  war,  or  won  their 
plaudits  by  his  declamation,  to  his  precocious  appearance 
as  author  and  actor ;  thence  through  his  experience  in 
connection  with  the  stage,  and  as  consul  for  the  United 
States  in  a  foreign  port.  At  length  the  varied  tale  was 
ended.  They  lay  down  upon  the  heap  of  straw  which 
covered  the  rough  floor  in  one  corner  of  the  guard-house. 
Bryant's  dreams  led  him  far  away  from  the  wild  region 
and  the  rude  and  suspicious  men  around  him.  He  stood 
again  with  Lizzie  beneath  the  honeysuckle  at  the  window 
of  that  "sweet  home*  in  Irvine.  Again  she  looked  upon 
him  with  features  kindled  by  elevated  thought,  as  when 


190  HONOR',    OR, 

she  repeated  to  him  those  lines  of  Lovelace.     It  was  a 
stanza  of  the  same  poet  that  she  whispered  now  :  — 

"  Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 

Nor  iron  bars  a  cage ; 
Minds  innocent  and  quiet  take 

That  for  a  hermitage. 
If  I  have  freedom  in  my  love, 

And  in  my  soul  am  free, 
Angels  alone,  that  soar  above, 

Enjoy  such  liberty." 

In  the  course  of  the  next  morning  a  messenger  arrived, 
bearing  a  letter  to  the  captain  of  the  Guard.  It  con- 
tained a  severe  reprimand  for  the  detention  of  Mr.  Payne, 
with  an  order  for  his  immediate  release,  and  that  of  any 
other  persons  detained  under  similar  circumstances. 
The  travellers,  taking  leave  of  the  crestfallen  captain, 
proceeded  to  Knoxville,  where  Payne  published  an 
account  of  his  imprisonment,  which  was  read  through- 
out the  land,  and  occasioned  no  little  excitement.  ^The 
executive  of  Tennessee  began  to  make  inquiries  whether 
the  outrage  had  not  been  committed  within  the  limits  of 
that  state  ;  and  from  Georgia  courteous  invitations  were 
sent  to  the  author  of  "  Home,  Sweet  Home."  The  Georgia 
Guard  was  immediately  disbanded.  As  for  Bryant's 
arrest,  it  was  forgotten  in  that  of  his  more  distinguished 
companion  ;  and  it  would  not  have  been  known,  but  for 
this  veracious  record,  that  John  Howard  Payne  had  had 
any  one  to  share  his  confinement.  ••*'*• 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  191 


CHAPTER  XX. 

INTO  THE  LION'S  MOUTH. 

OME  three  months  after  the  occurrences  re- 
corded in  our  last  chapter,  a  merchant  vessel 
from  New  York  lay  outside  the  bar  at  Charles- 
ton harbor.  It  was  near  evening,  but  in  the  glow  of  the 
west  the  city  could  be  seen  beyond  the  level  bay,  amid 
the  circuit  of  land  scarce  less  level  —  the  city,  twelve 
miles  off,  its  roofs  and  less  prominent  towers  clustering 
round  St.  Michael's  spire,  which  seemed  the  gigantic 
guardian  of  the  whole.  Thus  had  the  vessel  lain  since 
morning ;  and  now,  while  the  other  passengers  awaited 
its  delayed  motion  with  a  composure  that  seemed  indif- 
ference, one  gentleman  exhibited  signs  of  impatience  and 
vexation.  He  walked  the  deck  rapidly,  stopping,  how- 
ever, frequently,  to  look  towards  the  city,  or  to  observe 
the  motion  of  the  few  clouds,  as  if  to  gather  from  them 
some  augury  of  possible  progress.  At  length  he  ap- 
proached the  captain,  who,  standing  by  the  side  of  the 
vessel,  was  looking  also  towards  the  distant  city. 

"  No  hope  of  getting  there  to-night,  then,  captain?" 
he  inquired. 


192  HONOR;    OR, 

"  No,  Mr.  Bryant,  no  hope,  so  long  as  wind  and  tide 
are  against  us  this  way.  You  see  we  need  a  high  tide 
to  take  us  across  the  bar,  and  when  the  tide  has  been 
high,  the  wind  has  been  dead  ahead.  "We  may  have  to 
lay  here  four  and  twenty  hours,  or  more." 

"  And  the  cars  for  Hamburg  leave  Charleston  at  seven 
to-morrow  morning !  Captain,  I  am  on  business  of  life 
and  death  —  life  and  death !  too  truly,"  said  he,  inter- 
rupting himself.  "  I  must  leave  Charleston  for  the 
interior  to-morrow  at  seven.  Now,  is  there  any  possible 
way  that,  for  love  or  money,  I  can  be  taken  up  to  the 
city  to-night  ?  " 

"  We  might  hail  a  fishing-boat,  and  see  if  the  man 
would  take  you  in,"  said  the  captain.  "  There  are  plenty 
of  these  negro  fishermen  returning  to  land  about  this 
time." 

Bryant  eagerly  caught  at  the  proposal,  and  before 
long  a  boat  was  seen  and  hailed  ;  the  bargain  was  struck, 
and  Bryant,  with  his  baggage,  took  his  seat  in  the  boat, 
with  its  dark  oarsman,  bade  farewell  to  the  captain  and 
his  fellow-passengers,  and  was  on  his  way  across  the 
waters,  then  so  peaceful  and  lonely,  —  since  then  the 
scene  of  such  fierce  and  fatal  conflict. 

When  the  negro  had  rowed  for  some  distance,  crossing 
the  bar  which  had  proved  such  an  obstacle  to  the  en- 
trance of  the  larger  vessel,  Bryant  discovered  himself  to 
be  nearing  a  bastioned  fortress  on  his  right,  and  learned 
that  it  was  Fort  Moultrie,  of  revolutionary  memory. 


THE    SLAVE -DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  193 

The  low  shore  on  the  left  was  not  crowned  by  any  mili- 
tary work ;  and  Fort  Sumter,  in  our  day  so  famous,  did 
not  then  occupy  its  wave-washed  island  in  the  central 
space. 

The  negro  sung,  as  he  rowed,  a  strange,  wild  strain,  to 
such  words  as  these.  They  might  be  entitled  — 

THE    FISH    AND    THE    FISHER-BOY. 

"  Take  de  bait,  take  de  hook ; 

Come  along,  brudder  fish ; 
Don't  you  want  to  see  de  cook  ? 

Don't  you  want  to  see  de  dish  ? 
First-rate  cook,  Dinah ! 

First-rate  dish  she  got ! 
O,  you'll  be  happy  dere 

Cooked  smokin'  hot ! 

"  Take  de  hook,  take  de  line ; 

Come  along,  nigger  boy ; 
Get  your  massa  fish  to  dine ; 

Dat's  a  sight  to  gib  you  joy ! 
First-rate  man,  massa, 

First-rate  at  a  treat ; 
O,  you'll  be  happy  dere 

Seein'  massa  eat !  " 

Bryant  laughed  as  he  heard  the  sarcasm  of  the  second 
verse.  It  was  a  sudden  laugh,  that  seemed  broken  off 
by  some  thought  that  forbade  it.  Remembering  how  his 
incautious  conversation  with  Toussaint  had  resulted,  he 
made  no  comment  to  the  negro  on  his  song. 

Darkness  fell  around  them,  and  the  stars  came  out, 
17 


194  HONOR,    OR, 

while  the  city  revealed  itself  across  the  waters  by  its 
lights,  streaking  the  waves  with  reflected  radiance. 
Bryant  was  more  inclined  to  converse  with  himself  than 
with  his  companion. 

"  I-  wonder,"  said  he,  inwardly,  "  whether  this  fort 
I  have  just  passed  will  ever  give  forth  war's  thunder 
again.  All  is  peace  now ;  and  it  does  not  seem  likely 
that  any  nation  will  care  to  disturb  us,  powerful  as  we 
are ;  and  here,  on  this  continent,  remote  from  their 
centres  of  power,  we  can  scarcely  disturb  them. 

"But  internal  convulsions?  Is  there  not  trouble 
brewing  with  these  Nullifiers?  They  talk  desperately, 
but  it  can  hardly  be  carried  out.  This  state  will  not  act 
alone,  and  no  other  state  is  wild  enough  to  act  with  her. 
If  they  should,  —  I  did  not  vote  for  Jackson,  but  he  is  at 
least  a  man.  He  will  not  let  the  Union  go  without  a 
struggle. 

"  These  fish  !  My  oarsman  rests  his  oars  to  pull  one 
in  that  has  caught  at  one  of  the  lines  he  had  fastened  to 
the  sides  of  the  boat.  There,  die,  poor  creature,  seized 
by  rapacious  man  !  When  philanthropy  has  done  away 
with  war,  will  it  take  up  the  cause  of  such  victims  as  you  ? 

"  What  shall  we  reason  ?  That  philanthropy  is 
wrong  ?  No ;  but  we  must  keep  in  view  common 
sense,  and  the  evident  will  of  Grod.  I  will  not  inter- 
fere for  the  fish  then;  nor  will  I  meddle  with  the 
fisherman,  and  turn  his  harmless  sarcasm  into  burning 
anger  at  the  injustice  which  his  race  endures. 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  195 

"No,  c Sunny  South'!  your  great  evil  is  beyond  my    \ 
mending.     But  O,  how  it  pervades  with  its  influence  all   ^ 
your  life  !     Well,  I  may  not  interfere  with  others,  but  I 
and  mine  will  be  clear  of  it.     Never  have  I  regretted, 
in  all  that  it  has  cost  me,  that  I  refused  to  defile  myself 
with  Witham's  ill-gotten  gold. 

"  Ah,  that  recalls  my  errand  —  my  errand,  which  the 
only  friend  who  knows  of  it  calls  insane.  Well,  I  have 
counted  the  cost,  and  I  will  not  shrink,  though  it  be  from 
death.  The  father  must  be  saved,  wretch  as  he  is,  for 
truth's  sake,  and  for  his  daughter's. 

"  His  daughter's  !  Can  she  ever  be  mine?  Not  only 
a  slave-dealer's,  but  a  murderer's  daughter?  For  he 
intended  to  murder,  though  not  the  man  he  killed ;  and 
if  law  had  its  strict  course,  the  intention  and  the  deed, 
both  complete,  though  applied  to  different  objects,  would 
make  him  fully  guilty  of  the  crime  of  murder. 

"^Does  hojioiL.bid.me  give  her  up  for  that?  She  will 
say  so  ;  I  say  differently.  (True  honor Ibids  me  stand  up  M/ 
^or  the  innocent  and  the  unfortunate.  But  down,  idle 
hopes  !  My  own  life  is  in  more  danger  than  his.  Well, 
let  me  do  my  part  bravely,  and  if  I  fall,  the  victim  of 
another  riot,  I  fall  without  real  dishonor,  if  I  fall  without 
guilt." 

And  now,  the  island  of  Castle  Pinckney  passed,  the 
boat  reached  the  wharf  in  the  rear  of  the  Exchange ; 
and  having  paid  his  sable  convoy,  Bryant  called  a  porter, 
and  found  his  way  to  Jones's  Hotel. 


196  HONOR',    OR, 

In  the  parlor,  at  Jones's,  an  elderly  gentleman  and 
lady  were  standing,  habited  as  just  returned  from  some 
evening  engagement.  They  had  -been  accompanied  back 
to  the  hotel  by  others,  who  were  now  taking  leave  of 
them  with  expressions  of  courtesy. 

"  I  am  sorry/'  said  a  gentleman,  "  that  your  stay  in 
Charleston  is  so  short,  Mr.  Livingston,  that  we  have  not 
time  to  see  more  of  you,  and  to  show  you  what  is  worth 
seeing  in  our  city." 

"  We  should  be  delighted  to  stay  longer  among  such 
hospitable  friends,"  he  replied,  ubut  the  business  that 
brings  us  south  is  too  pressing  for  delay,  and  indeed 
makes  us  too  anxious  to  allow  much  thought  for  any 
thing  else.  But  if  all  turns  out  well,  we  shall  have  a 
fund  of  agreeable  recollections  to  dwell  upon  in  future." 

"  I  shall  want  to  describe  to  my  fifends  at  the  North," 
said  Mrs.  Livingston,  "  those  beautiful  churches.  I 
hardly  know  which  to  admire  most.  St.  Michael's 
is  the  finest  building,  but  that  venerable  St.  Philip's, 
with  its  walls  and  pillars  so  encrusted  with  marble  monu- 
ments, is  different  from  any  thing  I  have  seen  elsewhere 
in  our  country." 

"  Then  your  accomplished  sculptor,"  said  Mr.  Living- 
ston, "  Colonel  CogdelTs  name  should  be  mentioned  with 
Allston's,  whom  we  claim  by  adoption,  to  show  what 
South  Carolina  can  do  in  the  arts." 

"  While  our  friends  in  Orange  Street  show  what  she 
can  do  in  poetry,"  added  his  wife. 


THE  SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  197 

"  If  you  could  stay  over  to-morrow,  I  should  like  to 
have  you  visit  our  citadel/'  said  their  southern  friend ; 
"  the  large,  square  building  we  passed  on  our  ride  this 
morning." 

"  A  citadel ! "  said  Mr.  Livingston ;  "I  heard  the 
word  used  this  morning,  and  was  struck  with  it  as  some- 
thing new  in  our  country.  What  is  it  used  for  ?  " 

"  O,  you  know  our  peculiar  population.  They  need 
some  exhibition  of  military  force  to  keep  them  in  order. 
Our  police,  you  may  have  observed,  is  military,  with 
guard  house  and  beat  of  drum  ;  and  the  building  I  spoke 
of  belongs  to  the  state,  but  is  garrisoned  by  United  States 
troops." 

"  They  are  to  leave  soon,  however,"  said  another 
gentleman.  "  The  governor  has  demanded  back  the 
citadel,  and  the  requisition  is  to  be  complied  with.  But 
we  must  not  keep  our  friends  standing,  Mr.  Henderson." 
And  with  mutual  good  wishes,  the  Southerners  departed. 

"  Ah,"  said  Mr.  Livingston,  when  they  were  gone, 
"  that  citadel  and  that  military  array  tell  volumes  of  the 
dangers  as  well  as  the  evils,  of  the  slave  system.  Strange, 
that  men  as  intelligent  and  really  noble  as  these  should 
be  the  supporters  of  such  a  state  of  things." 

"  Did  you  observe,"  said  his  wife,  "  his  anxiety  when 
you  were  speaking  with  that  poor  fellow  in  the  prison  ?  " 

"  What,  the  one  confined  on  a  charge  of  circulating 
abolition  documents  ?  Yes ;  he  seemed  to  think  my 
simple  questions  of  humanity  would  involve  me  as  an 
17* 


198  HONOR;    OR, 

accomplice.  But,  Lucy,  did  you  notice  the  pillory, 
stored  up  in  the  court-house  building?  Who  would 
have  thought  to  see  such  a  relic  of  the  dark  ages ! " 

They  paused  to  listen  to  the  sweet  chime  of  St. 
Michael's  bells.  While  they  were  yet  ringing,  the  door 
opened,  and  Frederick  Bryant  was  shown  into  the  room. 

"  Ah,  Frederick !  "  said  Mr.  Livingston,  "  then  you 
have  held  firm  to  your-  purppse  of  coming  south  once 
more,  though  the  last  time  so  nearly  cost  you  your  life. 
Did  not  you  think  the  old  folks  could  be  trusted  to  take 
care  of  their  stray  bird,  but  you  must  be  coming  after 
them?" 

"  No,  sir ;  but  my  heart  lay  this  way,  and  my  duty  too. 
But  when  did  you  arrive,  and  by  what  route,  to  get  here 
before  me  ?  " 

"  We  came  by  the  new  line  of  steamers  between 
Charleston  and  Norfolk.  They  make  a  very  easy  pas- 
sage, only  stopping  for  wood  and  water  at  Cape  Fear.  I 
hear  they  talk  of  soon  having  a  line  direct  to  New 
York." 

"  O,  before  long  there  will  be  steamers  to  Liverpool," 
said  Bryant.  "  You  go  on  to-morrow,  I  suppose,  as  the 
trial  is  so  near  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  we  should  have  gone  to-day,  but  we  had 
friends  here  who  were  not  to  be  denied.  I  have  letters, 
too,  since  I  saw  you,  that  have  relieved  our  anxiety  in 
part." 

"  Letters  from  Lizzie?" 


THE   SLAVE- DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  199 

"  From  Lizzie  and  from  Judge  Hendrick.  He  has 
been  all  kindness.  He  and  Mrs.  Hendrick  would  have 
had  Lizzie  stay  at  their  house,  if  she  had  been  willing ; 
but  the  noble  girl  would  not  leave  Mrs.  Witham,  borne 
cfown  with  sorrow,  and  in  declining  health  ;  and  so,  ever 
since  Witham's  arrest,  they  have  boarded  together  at  a 
house  near  the  jail.  There  was  a  little  left  from  the 
wreck  of  his  property,  which  suffices  for  the  present." 

"  The  wreck  of  his  property  !  "  said  Bryant. 

"  Had  you  not  heard  that  nearly  all  he  had  was  lost  at 
a  blow,  by  the  failure  of  the  Bank  at  Xenophon  ?  The 
failure  was  entire.  Nothing  could  be  found  to  explain 
where  the  funds  had  gone  ;  and  no  possibility,  it  seems, 
of  calling  any  one  to  account  in  a  legal  manner.  One 
of  the  losers,  however,  took  the  law  into  his  own  hands, 
by  shooting  the  president  of  the  bank  in  open  day ;  and 
such  was  the  public  feeling,  that  at  last  accounts  he  had 
not  been  arrested  for  it." 

"  It  has  gone  then,"  said  Bryant ;  "  gained  by  the 
crimes  of  its  possessor,  lost  by  the  crimes  of  others ! 
There  passed  away  the  obstacle  that  once  was  all  that 
stood  between  Lizzie  and  me.  But  O,  what  obstacles 
there  are  now  ! " 

"  By  what  I  hear  from  Lizzie,"  said  Mr.  Livingston, 
"  her  father's  comment  on  the  loss  was  much  like 
what  you  have  just  made.  He  seems  to  be  a  changed 
man.  He  declares  that  he  did  not  intend  to  kill  Smith  ; 
but  the  pistol  was  found  in  his  hand,  hot  from  its  recent 


200  HONOR;    OR, 

discharge,  and  Smith  dead  on  the  ground  before  him. 
It  is  known  that  he  had  a  quarrel  with  Smith,  and  had 
turned  him  out  of  the  house,  and  that  high  words  had 
passed  between  them  since  ;  so  no  one  there  believes  him 
but  his  daughter.  I  confess,  I  doubt  his  story  myself, 
for  he  gives  no  explanation  why  he  fired  the  pistol ;  and 
he  seems  to  feel  as  one  who  has  the  stain  of  blood  on  his 
soul.  The  Methodist  minister  who  attends  him  says  he 
should  think  him  a  true  penitent,  if  he  would  but  con- 
fess." 

Bryant  made  no  answer,  but  stood  with  contracted 
brows,  as  in  deep  and  painful  thought.  Mr.  Livingston 
continued :  — 

"  Some  have  fancied  that  he  fired  in  your  defence  ;  but 
that  does  not  agree  with  other  facts,  for  the  story  is,  that 
you  were  hustled  out  of  the  way  among  the  students  just 
after  the  people  in  the  house  locked  the  door  ;  that  you 
ran  round  to  the  stable,  and  took  the  first  horse  you 
found,  which  happened  to  belong  to  Judge  Hendrick. 
They  were  beginning  to  call  you  hard  names  for  it,  but 
Judge  Hendrick  silenced  them,  by  declaring  that  you 
had  sent  back  the  horse,  and  paid  handsomely  for  its  use." 

"  Which  he  would  not  receive,  however,"  said  Bryant. 
"  He  handed  the  money  I  sent  to  the  treasurer  of  the 
Orphan  Asylum,  from  whom  I  received  a  note  of  thanks, 
accordingly.  Well,  they  are  ingenious  in  accounting 
for  my  disappearance.  Let  it  pass  for  true  till  I  tell  the 
story  myself." 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  201 

"  But  are  you  crazy  enough,  Frederick,  to  venture  in 
among  those  wild  beasts  again?"  Mrs.  Livingston  spoke 
with  deep  concern.  "  If  your  testimony  on  the  trial  is 
of  importance,  can  you  not  as  well  write  your  statement, 
and  send  it  from  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Livingston;  "have  your  deposition 
taken  before  a  magistrate." 

"  I  have  thought  of  that/'  said  Frederick.  "It  might 
possibly  answer ;  but  in  such  a  matter  as  this,  an  error 
might  cost  life  —  the  life  of  Lizzie's  father.  If  I  merely 
sent  my  statement,  though  sworn  to,  they  think  so  hardly 
of  abolitionists,  that,  supposing  me  to  be  one,  they  would 
suspect  me  of  falsehood  and  perjury.  There  would  be 
no  opportunity  for  cross-examination,  and  the  counsel 
opposed  would  take  their  revenge  for  this  by  dwelling  on 
the  improbability  of  my  statement.  Besides,  it  seems  to 
me,  the  most  straightforward,  manly  way  is,  to  go  right 
there,  and  tell  my  own  story." 

"  And  the  most  straightforward,  manly  way,  you  will 
do  to  a  certainty,"  said  Mr.  Livingston.  "  But  have  you 
no  news  yourself,  Fred  ?  " 

"  None  as  late  as  yours,  sir.  My  voyage  has  been  a 
long  one.  I  hoped,  when  I  sailed  from  New  York,  to 
have  been  in  Tusculum  a  week  ago ;  but  I  should  not 
even  have  been  here  to-night,  but  that  I  hired  a  negro 
to  bring  me  up  to  the  city  in  a  boat.  The  ship  is  court- 
ing the  obstinate  breezes  out  there,  beyond  the  bar." 

"  But  you  had  letters  before  you  left." 


202  HONOR;    OR, 

"  From  Judge  Hendrick,  as  I  told  you,  and  from 
young  Edward  Elmsley,  in  reply  to  one  of  thanks,  and 
excusing  my  desertion  of  him  in  the  scuffle,  which  I 
never  have  felt  quite  easy  about.  He  forgives  me,  how- 
ever, and  makes  light  of  the  bruises  he  received  ;  but  he 
writes  that  he  should  like  to  catch  a  real  abolitionist,  and 
help  to  do  him  up  in  soft  cotton.  Then  I  have  one  from 
Lizzie,  sad  as  sad  can  be.  It  was  written  before  the 
change  you  speak  of  had  come  over  her  father,  or  at 
least  before  she  was  fully  aware  of  it.  Her  religious 
faith  alone  seems  to  sustain  her." 

"  That  change  must  strengthen  her  greatly.  Yet  there 
is  enough  of  trial  in  the  case,"  said  Mrs.  Livingston,  "  to 
make  us  very  saa  for  our  poor  girl  —  her  father  in  danger 
of  his  life  on  a  charge  of  murder,  and,  at  the  best,  a 
ruined  man ;  her  step-mother  failing ;  and  herself  com- 
pelled to  hush  every  sorrow  of  her  own  in  order  to 
minister  to  others." 

"  That  necessity  perhaps  may  be  a  blessing,"  said  Mr. 
Livingston.  "  Her  own  burden  may  be  less  felt  in  her 
efforts  to  help  those  around  her  to  sustain  theirs." 

"  But,  my  dear,  she  thinks  of  them  too  much.  That 
low-bred,  quarrelsome  man,  and  that  vulgar  woman ! 
If  they  get  out  of  this  trouble  safe,  what  comfort  can 
Lizzie  ever  have  in  living  with  them?  O,  she  must  come 
and  stay  with  us  again  ;  she  ought  not  to  refuse,  and  she 
must  not." 

"  Do  you  think,  then,"   said  Bryant,  "  there  is  any 


THE    SLAVE -DEALER'S   DAUGHTER  203 

hope  of  her  consenting  to  it?  I  have  been  afraid  not, 
she  seemed  so  devoted  to  what  she  considers  her  duty. 
And  I  love  her  all  the  better  for  it,  too." 

"  I  don't  know  ;  we  must  try.  What  time  must  we 
leave  to-morrow,  Mr.  Livingston  ?  " 

"  At  seven  o'clock,  they  say.  And  after  all  the  fatigue 
you  have  had  to-day,  you  had  better  rest  now,  to  be  ready 
for  an  early  start  in  the  morning." 


204  HONOR;    OR, 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  TKIAL. 

trial  of  John  William  for  the  murder  of 
Daniel  Smith  was  to  take  place  at  Johnsonville  ; 
x  for  Tusculum,  though  the  seat  of  a  college,  did 
not  join  to  that  honor  the  dignity  of  being  the  county 
town.  The  case  had  excited  no  slight  amount  of  atten- 
tion, as  the  accused  and  his  victim  were  both  well  known 
in  the  vicinity,  and  as  popular  report  connected  the  oc- 
currence with  the  absorbing  topic  of  abolition,  and  the 
always  interesting  theme  of  love.  It  was  generally  agreed 
that  Smith  had  been  a  suitor  for  Witham's  daughter ; 
most  people  said,  an  accepted  suitor,  until  the  arrival  of 
the  young  Northerner  had  induced  the  intended  bride  to 
treat  her  lover  with  coldness.  This,  joined  with  his  patri- 
otic feelings,  had  led  him  to  unmask  and  attempt  to  pun- 
ish the  abolition  agent ;  and  hence,  it  was  said,  had  arisen 
the  fatal  quarrel.  There  were  some,  indeed,  who  main- 
tained that  the  Yankee  was  the  murderer ;  and  more 
would  have  willingly  believed  this,  but  that  Witham's 
language  implied  an  admission  of  the  act,  though  not  of 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  205 

the  intention,  and  that  the  pistol  found  in  his  hand  gave 
testimony  too  clear  for  them  to  doubt.  Much  was  the 
subject  disputed  among  the  crowd  assembled  in  the  John- 
sonville  tavern  ;  and  many  were  the  bets  made  respecting 
the  result  of  the  trial,  over  glasses  of  mint-julep. 

We  will  not  pause  there,  but  enter  the  court-house, 
where  persons  known  to  us  are  already  assembled.  Judge 
Hendrick  having  to  appear  as  a  witness,  his  place  of 
dignity  is  filled  by  another.  Mrs.  Witham  is  too  ill  to  be 
near  her  husband ;  but  Lizzie  is  there,  though  looking 
pale  and  worn.  Mrs.  Livingston  is  seated  next ;  and  at 
her  side  is  her  husband,  with  his  gray  hair  and  his  be- 
nevolent though  energetic  countenance.  Bryant  would 
have  accompanied  them  ;  but  such  strong  representations 
were  made  of  the  danger,  not  only  to  himself,  but  to  others, 
of  his  being  known  to  be  present,  that  he  had  yielded,  and 
stood  undistinguished  among  the  spectators.  His  friend, 
Mr.  Stevens,  of  Royalton,  occupied  a  seat  near  the  Liv- 
ingstons. 

Lizzie  sat  with  her  eyes  cast  down,  conscious  of  the 
gaze  of  the  crowd  ;  but  her  look  was  not  one  of  unmingled 
sorrow  or  fear.  From  the  expression  of  her  father's  fea- 
tures at  the  last  glance  she  had  ventured  to  take,  she  had 
said  to  herself,  "  Ah,  if  man  condemns  himself,  I  believe 
that  he  has  found  forgiveness  elsewhere."  Never  had 
she  loved  him  so  much  as  now,  when  she  sat  by  his 
side  to  witness  his  trial  for  a  deadly  crime  ;  and  yet,  in 
her  thankfulness  for  his  repentance,  the  agony  of  sus- 
pense as  to  his  fate  was  almost  unfelt. 


206  HONOR;    OR, 

And  the  old,  loved  friends  of  her  childhood  were  near. 
They  had  travelled,  in  their  age,  the  long  journey  to  be 
with  her  now.  She  had  wept,  last  night,  on  that  kind, 
maternal  breast ;  she  had  given  a  daughter's  kiss  to  her 
revered  protector.  That  they  were  there,  was  joy  in 
itself ;  and  it  was  deepened  when  she  thought  that  now 
her  father  was  brought  near  to  them  by  religious  faith 
and  hope.  More  than  ever  before,  her  complicated  filial 
duties  and  feelings  seemed  to  be  in  harmony. 

There  was  another  :  did  she  look  at  him  ?  They  had 
had  an  interview  yesterday,  its  tenderness  rendered  solemn 
by  the  terrible  crisis  at  which  they  stood.  Now,  she 
knew  he  was  near ;  her  cautious  glance  had  found  him. 
"Would  he  be  safe,  would  he  be  prudent,  so  near  the  scene 
of  his  former  danger  ? 

The  shock  which  came  to  Witham,  when  he  found 
himself  stained  with  the  blood  of  an  unexpected  victim, 
among  its  other  effects  upon  his  character,  had  made  him 
more  tender  of  his  daughter's  feelings  and  reputation. 
At  first,  he  had  been  too  much  overcome  by  horror 
at  the  deed  he  had  committed,  to  say  to  those  who  ques- 
tioned him,  that  he  had  aimed  the  pistol  at  Bryant ; 
and  this  forbearance,  at  that  time  accidental,  he  had 
afterwards  resolved  to  continue.  He  would  not  have  his 
daughter  know  that  he  had  sought  the  life  of  her  lover  ; 
still  less  would  he  have  her  name  mingled  loosely,  in  pub- 
lic speech,  with  the  details  of  a  dreadful  crime.  As  for 
Lizzie,  she  had  shrunk  within  the  window  after  her  part>> 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S    DAUGHTER.  207 

ing  with  Bryant,  and  had  fainted  at  the  confusion  that  en- 
sued. She  had  been  told  afterwards  that  Smith  had  been 
shot  by  her  father,  and  knew  that  the  latter  admitted  the 
act,  but  represented  it  as  unintentional.  Engaged  in  at- 
tendance now  upon  her  imprisoned  father,  and  now  on 
her  sick  step-mother,  she  had  shrunk  from  hearing  de- 
tails of  a  revolting  character,  and  was,  therefore,  little 
acquainted  with  the  circumstances  of  the  fatal  deed. 

Silence  had  been  commanded,  and  the  proceedings  of 
the  court  commenced.  There  had  been  some  difficulty  in 
impanelling  the  jury,  for  few  in  the  neighborhood  had  failed 
to  express  an  opinion  when  their  fellow-countryman, 
Smith,  was  shot  by  one  who,  though  he  had  resided 
among  them  long,  was  still  known  to  be  an  Englishman. 
But  the  difficulty  was  not  increased  by  the  prisoner  chal- 
lenging any  without  cause ;  and  at  length  the  jury  was 
complete,  the  indictment  was  read,  and  the  prisoner  was 
called  to  answer,  Guilty  or  Not  Guilty. 

"Guilty  enough,"  replied  Witham  —  "but  not  of 
what  I  am  now  charged  with.  It  is  true  I  killed  Dan 
Smith " 

"  Enter  a  plea  of  Not  Guilty,  Mr.  Clerk,"  said  the 
judge,  hastily.  "  The  prisoner  will  be  heard  by  his  coun- 
sel, and  by  himself  at  the  proper  time.  At  present,  he 
must  keep  silence." 

The  state's  attorney  now  rose,  and  presented  a  state- 
ment of  the  case.  He  was  a  young  and  ambitious  law- 
yer ;  and  not  doubting  that  he  was  bringing  a  murderer 


208  HONOR,    OR, 

to  deserved  punishment,  he  thought  rather  of  what  argu- 
ments would  have  most  effect  upon  the  jury,  than  of  what 
he  could  most  legitimately  employ.  There  was  a  motive 
which,  whether  the  real  one  or  not,  he  could  impute  to 
"Witham  with  some  show  of  probability,  and  which,  if  he 
could  lead  the  jury  to  believe  it,  would  prejudice  them 
strongly  against  the  prisoner :  this  was,  a  participation  in 
the  abolition  views  and  purposes  which  had  been  charged 
on  Bryant.  He  determined,  therefore,  to  represent  that 
Witham  killed  Smith  in  defence  of  the  unpopular  stran- 
ger,—  the  incendiary, — whom  the  just  anger  of  the  peo- 
ple sought  to  punish. 

"Yes,  your  honor,  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  he 
continued,  after  having  suggested  this  idea,  "  we  are 
prepared  to  prove  to  you  that  this  man,  this  agent  of  a 
nefarious  association  at  the  North,  organized  for  the 
very  purpose  of  spreading  through  our  fair  southern 
land  insurrection,  murder,  and  rapine  in  all  their 
vilest  forms,  —  that  this  man  arrived  at  the  prisoner's 
house  on  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  the  murder 
was  committed.  We  will  prove,  not  merely  that  he  had 
incautiously  given  hints  of  his  fell  designs,  but  that 
he  had  deliberately  endeavored  to  excite  a  slave  to  become 
the  leader  of  an  insurrection.  We  will  prove  that,  on  his 
arrival  at  the  hotel,  the  abolition  agent  endeavored  at 
first  to  put  off  a  meeting  with  his  host  until  they  could 
discuss  their  fell  designs  in  private  ;  that  the  prisoner,  in- 
advertently, no  doubt,  defeated  this  purpose  by  recogniz- 


THE    SLAVE -DEALER*  8  DAUGHTER.  209 

ing  his  visitor ;  that  he  immediately  endeavored  to  re- 
pair his  error,  and  to  lull  suspicion,  by  a  shallow  pre- 
tence of  unfriendliness  towards  the  new  comer  ;  but  that, 
when  the  sagacious,  brave,  and  patriotic  Smith,  and  the 
other  gentlemen  present,  began  to  perceive  and  develop 
the  character  of  the  incendiary,  he  changed  his  course 
entirely,  became  the  protector  of  the  man  against  whom 
he  had  pretended  hostility,  and  not  only  yielded  him 
lodging,  but  received  him  into  the  most  intimate  connec- 
tion with  his  own  domestic  circle.  We  could  make  this 
still  more  clear  but  for  that  provision  of  our  laws  which 
prevents  the  testimony  of  negroes  from  being  taken  in  a 
court  of  justice.  For  once,  let  that  provision,  which, 
wise  and  just  as  it  is,  has  been  so  maligned  by  abolition- 
ists, extend  an  undeserved  but  magnanimous  protection 
to  the  secret  plottings  of  its  enemies ;  we  have  still 
enough  of  evidence  to  show  their  guilty  nature.  We  shall 
prove,  by  the  evidence  of  many  witnesses,  that  when  the 
heroic  Smith,  indignant  at  the  treacherous  designs  which 
he  had  unmasked,  attempted  to  inflict  personal  chastise- 
ment on  the  incendiary,  the  prisoner  gave  his  aid  to  that 
incendiary,  and  violently  ejected  the  patriot  from  his 
house ;  we  shall  show  that  when  a  number  of  citizens, 
justly  indignant,  assembled  to  inflict  condign  punishment 
on  the  abolition  agent,  the  prisoner,  in  a  scornful  and 
vindictive  manner,  refused  to  hear  what  their  brave  leader 
had  to  say  regarding  the  object  of  their  coming  ;  that  he 
locked  the  door  of  his  house  in  the  face  of  his  incensed 
18* 


210  HONOR;    OR, 

fellow-townsmen,  taking  under  his  protection  the  agent 
of  insurrection  and  murder ;  for  we  shall  prove  to  you, 
gentlemen,  by  the  highest  testimony,  that  the  abolitionist 
Bryant  was  with  the  prisoner  in  the  house.  Circumstances 
combine  to  show  that  while  this  man  was  endeavoring  to 
escape  through  the  court,  between  the  house  and  the  ne- 
gro quarters,  he  was  intercepted  by  the  gallant  and  watch- 
ful Smith.  Here,  apparently,  a  struggle  took  place  :  the 
base  incendiary  was  on  the  point  of  being  mastered  by 
the  chivalrous  son  of  the  South,  when  his  protector,  the 
prisoner  now  at  the  bar,  raised  a  felon  hand,  and  our 
state  was  deprived  of  one  of  her  bravest  sons. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  I  have  completed  thus  the 
outline  of  the  transaction,  as  we  suppose  it  to  have 
been.  To  constitute  murder,  the  court  will  undoubtedly 
inform  you,  there  must  be  the  fatal  act,  and  proof  of  the 
criminal  intention.  The  act  is  not  denied  ;  and  if  it  were, 
its  proof  would  be  easy,  for  the  prisoner  was  found  stand- 
ing stupefied,  the  moment  after  he  had  fired  the  fatal 
shot,  with  his  victim  before  him,  and  the  pistol,  still  hot 
from  its  discharge,  in  his  hand.  The  criminal  intention 
is  proved  by  the  facts  I  have  now  related. 

"  But,  before  I  proceed  to  the  examination  of  witnesses, 
I  will  meet  one  objection,  which  will,  undoubtedly,  be 
urged  against  the  view  I  have  taken.  My  learned  brother, 
the  counsel  for  the  defence,  will  probably  prove  to  you 
that  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  has  exercised  the  calling  of  a 
buyer  and  seller  of  negroes.  He  may  spare  himself  the 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  211 

trouble  of  calling  witnesses  to  prove  the  point ;  we  ad- 
mit it,  and  while  we  believe  that  the  calling  is  alike  le- 
gal and  necessary,  we  do  not  think  it  one  of  that  elevated 
character  that  speaks  much  in  favor  of  him  who  sustains 
it.  But  my  brother  will  probably  ask  you  whether  you 
think  it  credible  that  a  negro-dealer  should  become  the 
agent  of  abolitionists,  and,  by  consequence,  an  abolitionist 
himself? 

"  And  why  not,  gentlemen  of  the  jury?  If  a  man  can, 
for  the  sake  of  sordid  gold,  subdue  his  natural  feelings  to 
an  employment  which,  if  lawful  and  necessary,  is  cer- 
tainly repulsive,  is  it  likely  that  those  feelings  are  deli- 
cate enough  to  keep  him  from  an  unlawful  employment, 
provided  it  is  but  profitable  ?  We  do  not  suppose  that 
the  abolitionists  employ  their  nefarious  agents  at  the 
South  without  price.  The  vast  resources  of  the  North 
are,  in  a  great  measure,  at  their  command ;  and  to  en- 
gage an  agent  in  the  unsuspected  guise  of  a  dealer  in 
slaves  would  give  them  an  advantage  well  worth  a  heavy 
outlay.  We  can  prove,  too,  that  indications  had  been 
given,  by  the  prisoner,  of  an  alteration  of  feeling  with  re- 
gard to  his  occupation,  and  a  purpose  to  exchange  it  for 
another.  He  is  known,  during  the  last  spring,  to  have 
purchased  a  slave  woman,  with  the  avowed  purpose  of 
selling  her  in  New  Orleans,  and  subsequently  to  have 
abandoned  that  intention,  and  disposed  of  her  to  a  neigh- 
bor of  her  former  owner.  Since  that  occurrence,  he  is 
believed  to  have  made  neither  purchase  nor  sale.  It  is 


212  HONOR;    OR, 

probable  that  this  change  was  insisted  on  by  the  fanatical 
party  to  which  he  had  sold  himself. 

"  We  will  now,  may  it  please  your  honor,  attend  to  the 
examination  of  witnesses.  When  these  have  been  heard, 
it  will  be  for  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  to  vindicate,  by 
your  verdict,  not  only  the  violated  law  and  the  sacred- 
ness  of  human  life,  but  peculiarly  the  safety  of  southern 
homes,  and  the  permanence  of  southern  institutions,  while 
you  inflict  due  punishment  upon  the  murderer  of  one  who 
bravely  fell  in  their  defence." 

Murmurs  of  applause,  and  expressions  of  surprise  and 
indignation,  had  passed  through  the  crowd  during  the  ad- 
dress of  the  state's  attorney ;  but  when  he  ended,  these 
feelings,  thus  far  held  in  check,  burst  forth  in  long  and 
repeated  plaudits,  which  the  crier  vainly  endeavored  to 
check.  When  these  had  nearly  subsided,  there  mingled 
with  them  cries  of  rage  against  the  prisoner.  "  Down 
with  the  murderer  ! "  "  Hang  the  abolitionist !  "  Such 
were  the  shouts  ;  and  the  crowd  pressed  against  the  pris- 
oner's dock,  as  if  about  to  dispense  with  judge  and  jury. 
Lizzie  trembled  in  every  limb,  but,  rising,  stood  facing  the 
crowd,  leaning  against  the  partition  which  separated  her 
from  her  father.  As  she  looked  round  on  them,  she  saw 
Bryant's  eye  fixed  upon  her.  His  face  was  pale,  but  the 
lips  firmly  compressed.  As  she  looked,  he  raised  his 
hand,  and  pointed  upwards  ;  Lizzie  sunk  again  to  her  seat, 
strengthened  by  the  mute  suggestion ;  and  at  the  same 
moment  the  voice  of  the  judge,  sternly  raised,  restored 
order  in  the  court. 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  213 

"  This  disturbance  must  not  be  suffered,"  he  said. 
"  The  officers  of  the  court  will  arrest  any  person  guilty 
of  renewing  it.  The  accused  is  entitled  to  a  fair  trial, 
and  the  law  of  the  land  will  accord  impartial  justice." 

The  examination  of  the  witnesses  for  the  prosecution 
now  commenced.  The  main  facts  of  the  death  of  Smith 
from  a  pistol  shot,  of  the  pistol  being  found  in  Witham's 
hand,  of  the  previous  expulsion  of  Smith  from  the  house, 
ancfc  the  high  words  which  had  passed  in  the  presence  of 
the  mob,  were  easily  established.  The  witnesses  who 
proved  them  were,  however,  strictly  cross-examined  by 
the  counsel  for  the  defence,  with  regard  to  the  position  of 
the  body,  as  indicating  the  attitude  of  the  deceased  at 
the  time  of  receiving  the  mortal  wound.  As  the  cross- 
examination  elicited  the  fact  that  Smith  was  shot  while 
his  face  was  turned  from  his  assailant,  proving  that  the 
deed  was  not  done  in  self-defence,  the  state's  attorney 
smiled,  and  looked  significantly  toward  the  jury. 

Evidence  was  now  introduced  on  the  subject  of  Bry- 
ant's visit,  and  the  commotion  which  resulted  from  it. 
This  led  to  frequent  objections  from  the  counsel  for  the 
defence  ;  but  in  most  instances  the  objections  were  over- 
ruled by  the  court.  Among  the  witnesses  summoned 
was  Judge  Hendrick,  who  testified  that  he  passed  through 
the  house  to  avoid  the  crowd ;  that  on  his  way  he  saw 
both  Witham  and  Bryant,  but  not  together  ;  and  that  he 
left  the  latter  alone  in  the  court-yard.  The  judge  was 
not  asked  whether  he  had  seen  Bryant  afterwards,  not 


214  HONOR;    OR, 

only  as  the  question  seemed  unnecessary  to  the  case,  but 
because  it  was  thought  best  not  to  inquire  too  closely  into 
the  mode  of  the  young  man's  escape.  For  the  same 
reason,  and  in  deference  to  Judge  Hendrick's  character, 
the  counsel  for  the  defence  declined  entering  upon  any 
cross-examination. 

Young  Elmsley  and  some  other  of  the  students  were 
examined,  principally  with  regard  to  what  had  passed 
between  Witham  apd  Smith  in  the  piazza.  They  testified 
that  when  the  struggle  was  over,  which  had  commenced 
with  Smith's  attack  upon  the  stranger,  neither  Witham 
nor  Bryant  was  to  be  found,  and  the  door  of  the  house 
was  locked. 

The  presentation  of  the  case  on  the  part  of  the  state 
was  now  completed,  and  the  court  awaited  the  argument 
of  the  counsel  for  the  accused. 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  215 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

THE    DEFENCE. 

E  lawyer  who  now  rose  to  defend  the  prisoner 
was  one  of  the  most  eminent  men  in  his  profes- 
i/  sion  in  the  state.  He  was  from  Royalton,  the 
residence  of  Mr.  Stevens.  How  his  services  had  been 
obtained  or  were  to  be  compensated,  Witham  himself  did 
not  know ;  but  at  an  early  period  after  the  charge  was 
first  made,  he  had  called  on  the  family,  and  had  given 
to  the  prisoner's  daughter  a  note  of  introduction  from  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Stevens,  which  procured  for  him  the  unre- 
stricted management  of  the  case.  He  now  rose  to  ad- 
dress the  jury ;  and  there  was  a  hush  of  expectation,  for 
Colonel  Henley  was  not  often  heard  to  speak  in  the  courts 
of  that  portion  of  the  state.  In  fact,  he  was  not  often 
heard  any  where.  His  retiring  disposition  inclined  him 
rather  to  the  less  public  part  of  the  business  of  his  profes- 
sion ;  but  whenever  an  occasion  arose  which  called  him 
forth,  he  was  always  found  equal  to  it.  He  was  one 
whom  those  honors  sought  in  vain,  which  other  men  seek 
for.  It  was  thought  by  his  friends  that  his  talents  would 


216  HONOE;    OB, 

have  shone  most  brightly  in  a  military  capacity  ;  and  had 
the  war  of  1812  continued  to  another  campaign,  his  rank 
of  colonel  would  have  been  changed  to  that  of  brigadier- 
general.  For  some  years  from  that  time  he  had  cultivated 
his  more  peaceful  profession  with  assiduity  and  success, 
and  had  engaged  to  some  degree  in  political  strife  ;  but  a 
duel  into  which  this  had  led  him,  though  resulting  blood- 
lessly,  had  occupied  for  a  time  the  attention  of  the  country, 
far  and  wide.  He  had  been  judged  severely  by  some,  and 
ridiculed  by  more.  His  proud  heart  shrunk  within  itself, 
and  thenceforth  he  turned  from  politics,  and,  as  far  as  he 
could,  from  public  practice.  Possessed  of  competence, 
and  not  ambitious  to  increase  it,  his  appearance  in  the 
case  now  pending  showed  to  those  who  knew  him  that 
he  must  be  deeply  interested  in  it,  either  from  his  love 
of  justice  or  from  personal  feeling. 

Colonel  Henley's  line  of  defence  was  marked  out  for 
him  by  the  facts  of  the  case,  as  he  supposed  them  to  be, 
and  by  what  he  knew  of  the  temper  of  his  southern 
fellow-citizens.  After  closely  questioning  Witham,  he 
could  not  bring  himself  to  believe  the  truth  of  the  man's 
assertion,  that  he  had  not  killed  Smith  intentionally ;  for 
the  only  alternative  seemed  to  be  that  the  pistol  had  gone 
off  by  accident,  and  the  coincidence  of  this  with  the  death 
of  an  enemy  in  a  lonely  place,  was  too  improbable  for 
him  to  yield  it  credence.  Nor  did  he  expect  to  make  the 
jury  believe  it.  But,  though  ill  pleased  with  the  prison- 
er's want  of  confidence  in  him,  he  resolved,  if  possible,  to 
save  his  life. 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  217 

He  began,  therefore,  by  remarking  that  his  learned 
brother  had  needlessly  connected  with  the  case  before 
them  questions  of  a  kind  peculiarly  suited  to  arouse  the 
passions  of  their  community.  What  had  the  killing  of 
Smith  to  do  with  abolitionism  ?  Only  this :  that  the 
presence  of  an  abolition  agent,  real  or  supposed,  in  the 
house,  had  been  the  cause  or  the  pretence  of  that  riot  in 
which  Smith  lost  his  life.  To  suppose  Witham  himself 
an  abolitionist  was  absurd  —  a  man  who  had  long  lived 
in  the  country  ;  who  had  not  only  held  slaves,  but  traded 
in  them  ;  and  who,  if  he  was  planning  the  destruction  of 
those  around  him,  must  see  his  own  family  involved  in 
the  common  ruin.  Colonel  Henley  said  that  he  yielded 
to  none  in  his  determination  to  allow  no  interference 
from  abroad  in  southern  institutions ;  but  he  thought  it 
highly  censurable  to  mingle  that  question,  which  so 
naturally  stirred  the  southern  blood,  with  the  calm 
course  of  justice. 

"  The  prisoner  declares,"  said  Colonel  Henley,  "  that 
he  did  not  design  the  death  of  Smith,  at  the  time  of  firing 
the  pistol.  He  does  not  declare  that  the  pistol  went  off 
by  accident.  That  it  did  is  certainly  possible  ;  more  prob- 
able, perhaps,  that,  though  aimed  and  fired,  the  action 
was  so  involuntary  as  to  leave  no  remembrance  of  de- 
sign." Here  a  scornful  laugh  from  the  opposing  counsel, 
and  a  look  of  incredulity  from  the  judge,  brought  Colo- 
nel Henley  to  a  sudden  pause ;  and  the  proud  blood 
mantled  in  his  cheek  as  he  sternly  said  that  he  thought 
19 


218  HONOR;   OR, 

a  case  on  which  the  life  of  a  human  being  depended  no 
rightful  theme  of  mirth.  "  But,"  he  added,  "  allowing 
that  there  was  intention,  we  trust  to  prove  that  there 
was  cause  sufficient  to  account  for  and  to  justify  it. 

"  Here,  gentlemen,  was  an  assault  made  by  this  man 
Smith,  and  others,  upon  the  dwelling  of  the  prisoner. 
Turn  your  thoughts  from  the  cause  of  the  excitement, 
and  regard  for  the  present,  as  justice  requires  you  to  do, 
only  the  fact  that  a  riot  was  going  on,  in  which  the 
prisoner's  property  and  the  very  lives  of  himself  and 
family  were  put  in  peril.  Threats  had  been  uttered  by 
some,  and  in  particular  by  Smith,  of  burning  the  house 
down,  if  the  suspected  person  was  not  found.  It  will  be 
brought  in  evidence  to  you,  gentlemen,  that  when  the 
prisoner  was  arrested,  he  had  about  him  articles  of  value 
and  business  papers,  such  as  men  are  not  accustomed 
to  carry  on  their  persons :  this  fact  shows  the  terror  in 
which  he  had  been  placed,  lest  the  threat  of  fire  should 
be  carried  into  effect.  At  the  moment  when  his  danger 
and  excitement  are  at  the  highest,  the  man  who  had 
collected  and  inflamed  the  mob  —  the  man  who  had 
threatened  to  fire  his  house  —  enters  his  enclosure,  with 
the  design,  for  aught  that  the  prisoner  knows,  of  carrying 
his  threat  into  execution.  I  ask  you,  gentlemen,  is  there 
one  of  you  who  would  not,  under  such  circumstances, 
defend  his  home  ?  Admit  that  the  prisoner,  in  denying 
that  he  intended  to  kill  Daniel  Smith,  is  only  exercising 
the  right  of  every  accused  person  not  to  give  evidence 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  219 

against  himself ;  admit  that  he  did  really  intend  it ;  I  ask 
which  of  you  would  not  have  intended  the  same,  when 
an  enemy  rushed  into  your  premises  to  set  your  house 
on  fire.  Gentlemen,  if  this  supposition  is  correct,  all  for 
which  I  can  blame  the  prisoner  is  an  excess  of  caution 
in  not  at  once  stating  the  truth,  and  throwing  himself  on 
your  just  sense  of  what  is  due  from  a  husband  and  father 
to  his  endangered  family ;  nay,  of  what  every  man, 
deserving  of  that  name,  will  do  by  the  very  instinct  of 
his  nature,  when  he  is  assailed.  Let  him  learn,  gentle- 
men, from  your  verdict,  that  he  has  underrated  the  jus- 
tice and  generosity  of  your  sentiments." 

If  one  might  judge  from  the  thoughtful  looks  of  the 
jury,  and  the  profound  silence  of  the  whole  assembly,  a 
deep  impression  had  been  made  by  the  appeal  of  the  coun- 
sel for  the  defence.  But  the  train  of  argument  by  which 
his  legal  protector  sought  to  save  him  was  far  from  being 
agreeable  to  Witham  himself.  Conscious  of  innocence 
with  regard  to  any  intention  of  taking  the  life  of  Smith, 
Witham  felt  as  if  his  counsel  was  betraying  his  cause  in 
admitting  the  thought  of  his  having  had  such  intention. 
At  the  moment,  therefore,  of  that  deep  silence,  he  burst 
forth  with  the  words,  — 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  shoot  Dan  Smith.  I  fired  at  the 
abolitionist,  at  Mr.  Bryant.  I  didn't  want  to  tell  this, 
for " 

"  Silence,"  exclaimed  at  once  judge,  crier,  and  coun- 
sel ;  but  the  words  had  been  spoken,  and  had  been  heard 


220  HONOR',    OR, 

by  all.  Colonel  Henley  struck  his  hands  together  in 
vexation.  The  state's  attorney  rose  with  an  air  of 
triumph. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  he  said,  "  the  declaration 
which  has  just  been  made  is  worth  your  notice." 

Colonel  Henley  interrupted  him  by  protesting  against 
such  a  declaration  being  received  as  evidence. 

"  I  shall  not,"  said  the  state's  attorney,  "  contest  the 
point  which  my  learned  brother  has  raised.  I  refer  to 
that  declaration  not  for  the  direct  testimony  it  gives,  for 
I  presume  no  one  here  considers  it  as  true  ;  it  is  but  the 
desperate  expedient  of  a  criminal  to  save  his  life.  I 
share,  gentlemen,  your  pity  for  the  unfortunate  man,  as 
his  condition  is  shown  in  these  turnings  and  windings ; 
but  that  pity  must  not  prevent  us  from  doing  our  duty. 
He  has  perceived,  gentlemen,  your  just  feeling  against 
the  incendiary  abolitionist,  and  can  any  thing  be  more 
transparent  than  his  effort  to  obtain  your  favor  by  pre- 
tending that  his  fatal  shot  was  fired  against  that  enemy 
of  southern  peace  ?  For  myself,  gentlemen,  I  will  believe 
his  assertion  when  that  man  Bryant,  who  then  succeed- 
ed in  rescuing  himself  from  the  just  punishment  of  his 
crime,  shall  venture  back  from  the  safety  of  his  northern 
home,  to  stand  in  the  circle  of  those  from  whom  he  then 
escaped,  and  tell  us  that  the  prisoner  fired  at  him." 

"  He  is  here,"  cried  a  voice  from  among  the  specta- 
tors ;  and,  coming  forward,  Frederick  Bryant  desired 
permission  to  give  his  testimony. 


THE  SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  221 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

THE  UNEXPECTED  WITNESS. 

surprise  occasioned  by  the  appearance  of 
Bryant  was  evident  all  around.  Counsel,  pris- 
s  oner,  and  jury  started  to  their  feet.  Lizzie, 
though  aware  of  his  presence,  had  not  till  then  seemed  to 
realize  the  danger  in  which  it  placed  him.  She  clasped 
her  hands  in  agony,  bent  forward,  and  closed  her  eyes, 
•  as  if  to  shut  out  the  whole  dreadful  scene.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Livingston  looked  on  with  trembling  interest.  Mr. 
Stevens  came  forward  to  meet  his  friend,  shook  him 
cordially  by  the  hand,  and  introduced  him  to  Colonel 
Henley. 

"Who  is  this  person?"  inquired  the  judge,  as  order 
was  restored.  "  Does  the  counsel  for  the  defence  desire 
to  introduce  him  as  a  witness  ?  " 

"  I  do,  may  it  please  your  honor,"  replied  Colonel 
Henley.  "  This,  gentlemen,  is  the  person  so  frequently 
referred  to,  and,  I  cannot  but  hope,  so  unjustly  character- 
ized as  the  abolitionist  Bryant.  Whatever  ground  there 
may  be,  or  may  not  be,  for  the  prejudice  against  him, 
19* 


222  HONOR;    OR, 

he  has  ventured  himself  here  with  a  bravery  which  all 
must\  honor  fc  to  give  his  evidence  in  this  important  case, 
this  case  of  life  and  death.  He  is  here  before  a  court  of 
impartial  legal  justice,  by  whom  he  will  be  patiently 
heard,  and  from  whom  he  will  meet  all  just  protection." 
He  spoke  witn  stern  impressiveness,  for  there  were 
marks  of  commencing  tumult  among  those  around. 

The  state's  attorney  started  to  his  feet.  "  I  share," 
said  he,  "  please  the  court,  in  the  general  surprise  at  the 
appearance  of  this  witness.  I  could  have  wished,  for  his 
own  safety,  and  that  the  course  of  justice  should  not  be 
disturbed  by  tumult,  that  he  had  not  thought  it  necessary 
to  venture  again  into  a  state  which  he  had  but  recently 
found  had  little  relish  for  his  company.  But  since  he 
is  here,  far  be  it  from  me  to  object  to  his  being  fully  and 
fairly  heard.  He  comes  among  us  to  give  evidence  in 
an  important  case,  and  no  friend  of  justice  and  of  our 
country  can  prevent  him  from  bearing  his  testimony,  or 
injure  him  for  so  doing.  Let  him  speak  freely  then.  I, 
for  one,  will  protect  him,  if  necessary,  to  the  last  drop  of 
my  blood,  so  long  as  he  confines  himself  to  the  simple 
duty  of  a  witness." 

Bryant  was  accordingly  sworn,  and  proceeded,  in 
answer  to  the  questions  addressed  to  him,  to  give  an 
account  of  what  he  knew  in  relation  to  the  case.  Those 
questions,  however,  were  at  times  so  general,  that  nearly 
all  that  had  occurred  during  his  stay  in  Tusculum  was 
included.  That  he  had  known  Witham  and  his  daughter 


i      THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  223 

in  that  northern  village  where  the  latter  had  been 
adopted  by  the  excellent  pair  who  were  now  present ; 
that  he  had  come  south  on  business  with  Witham  which 
he  declared  on  oath  had  nothing  to  do  with  any  abolition 
designs,  but  was  strictly  private  in  its  character  ;  all  this 
appeared,  and  the  hearers,  as  they  saw  Lizzie's  bright- 
ening look  of  hope  and  blush  of  modesty,  drew  their  own 
conclusion  as  to  the  nature  of  that  business.  Ingenuously 
he  related  the  conversation  into  which  the  peculiar  name 
of  the  slave  Toussaint  had  led  him,  injudiciously,  as  he 
admitted,  but  without  a  thought  of  instigating  insurrec- 
tion. He  declined  entering  into  the  details  of  his  inter- 
view with  Witham,  but  testified  that  they  had  quarrelled ; 
that  he  had  entered  the  house  from  the  piazza  during 
the  riot,  not  under  Witham's  protection,  but  that  of  an- 
other, whom  he  declined  to  name ;  and  that  while  in 
the  central  court  he  had  heard  the  report  of  a  pistol,  and 
had  believed  it  to  be  aimed  at  himself. 

The  evidence  was  heard  with  deep  attention.  It  was 
in  a  tone  of  surprise  and  respect  that  the  state's  attorney 
addressed  the  question,  "  What  motive  had  you  for 
coming  hither,  at  the  risk  which  you  must  have  known, 
to  give  evidence  in  this  case  ?  " 

"  The  motive  of  doing  justice.  This  man  was  accused 
of  the  intentional  murder  of  Smith.  I  knew  that,  as  far 
as  related  to  Smith,  the  occurrence  was  accidental." 

"  But  the  prisoner  had  intended  to  take  your  own 
life." 


224  HONOR;    OR, 

"  That  did  not  alter  my  obligation  to  tell  the  truth, 
when  he  was  charged  unjustly  with  taking  the  life  of 
another." 

"  Had  you  no  other  —  no  softer  motive  in  the  case?" 
inquired  the  lawyer,  with  a  meaning  look. 

"  I  admit  that  I  had  another  motive.  It  was  to  pro- 
tect an  innocent  wife  and  daughter  from  disgrace  and 
misery.  But  neither  this  nor  any  of  my  private  thoughts, 
which  you  may  imagine,  was  necessary  to  bring  me  here. 
I  am  a  lawyer,  sir,  as  well  as  yourself,  and  I  am  vowed 
to  the  service  of  justice." 

"  I  do  not  desire,"  said  the  state's  attorney,  "  to  pro- 
long the  cross-examination.  I  will  but  remark  to  the 
jury,  before  dismissing  the  witness,  that  his  evidence,  if 
admitted,  is  conclusive  against  the  prisoner."  A  murmur 
of  surprise  passed  round  the  court.  "  Yes,"  he  resumed, 
uby  the  prisoner's  own  declaration,  he  intended  murder — 
the  murder  of  Mr.  Bryant ;  Mr.  Bryant's  testimony  con- 
firms this.  The  deed  of  death,  then,  being  done  with 
intention,  its  guilt  is  not  affected  by  the  fact  that  it  fell, 
through  accident,  upon  the  wrong  victim.  Death,  —  the 
death  of  an  unoffending  person,  —  for  such  Mr.  Bryant's 
manly,  straightforward  narrative,  and  the  courage  of 
conscious  innocence  which  has  brought  him  here  to  tell 
it,  declare  him  to  be,  —  his  death  was  the  design ;  — 
death  also  was  the  result ;  the  design  and  the  result  go 
together,  and  form  the  crime  of  deliberate  murder." 

As   the  state's  attorney  closed,  the  prisoner  groaned 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  225 

aloud,  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands ;  Lizzie  sat 
pale  and  breathless.  After  a  moment's  pause,  Bryant, 
who  was  still  on  the  witness  stand,  begged  permission  to  n  / 


"  It  is  due,"  said  he,  "  to  the  prisoner,  and  to  justice, 
that  I  should  declare  the  cause  of  his  hostility  to  me.  In 
a  case  so  solemn  as  this,  where  life  is  involved,  I  must 
speak  of  things  which  otherwise  are  held  most  private. 
I  testify,  therefore,  that  I  came  to  the  prisoner's  house, 

to  ask  of  him  the  hand  of  his  daughter,  whom  I 

But  that  is  nothing  to  the  purpose.  I  had  received 
his  consent,  and  all  seemed  — —  when  a  discussion 
arose  between  us  on  the  subject  of  slavery.  I  testify 
here,  —  and  I  am  prepared  to  meet  whatever  danger  the 
declaration  may  place  me  in,  —  that  I  refused  to  become 
his  son-in-law,  if  I  was  to  be  in  any  way  involved  in  the 
guilt  of  his  business  as  a  slave-dealer,  even  by  receiving 
any  share  of  the  property  he  had  accumulated.  We 
parted  in  anger.  Afterwards,  in  making  my  escape  from 
the  house,  he  came  upon  me  at  the  moment  of  a  farewell 
interview  with  his  daughter  ;  and  then,  as  I  believe,  not 
with  malice  prepense  against  myself  or  any  one,  but  on 
sudden  impulse,  the  fatal  shot  was  fired.  It  can  avail 
nothing,  probably,  to  extenuate  his  act ;  yet  I  will  say, 
that  for  that  act,  and  for  the  anger  that  caused  it,  he  has 
my  free  forgiveness." 

Judge  Hendrick  now  came  forward,  and  desiring  to 
be  again  heard  as  a  witness,  disclosed  the  part  he  had 


226  HONOR}    OR, 

had  in  Bryant's  escape,  confirming  his  statements  with 
regard  to  the  manner  in  which  it  had  been  effected. 

When  his  evidence  was  finished,  Colonel  Henley 
approached  Lizzie,  and  said  a  few  words  to  her  in  a 
low  voice.  She  started,  and  seemed  to  shudder,  but 
bowed  in  acquiescence.  The  lawyer  turned  to  the  court, 
and  said,  "  If  any  doubt  remains  as  to  the  correctness 
of  Mr.  Bryant's  statement,  Miss  Witham  is- prepared  to 
give  her  evidence."  "With  a  pitying  voice,  the  judge 
observed  that  her  testimony  certainly  might  be  of  great 
importance ;  and  she  was  called  to  the  witness  stand. 
But  as  she  rose,  her  agitation  was  such,  that  the  judge 
directed  that  she  should  give  her  testimony  where  she 
was  seated. 

"  I  will  make  the  examination  as  short  as  possible," 
said  Colonel  Henley.  After  the  oath  was  administered, 
he  continued,  "  Miss  Witham,  did  you  see  Mr.  Bryant 
on  the  evening  of  the  riot  ?  " 

"  I  did,  sir,"  she  replied,  in  a  voice  low,  but  clear. 

"  Where  were  you  at  the  time?" 

"  At  the  window  of  the  building  used  as  kitchen  and 
negro  quarters,  where  my  father  had  placed  us,  as  far- 
thest from  the  mob." 

"  Please  to  relate  what  followed." 

"  I  remember  seeing  my  father,  and  how  angry  he 
looked,  and  that  I  thought  Mr.  Bryant  was  killed.  I  do 
not  remember  any  thing  else." 

"  That  will  do  ;  I  will  ask  you  no  further  questions." 


THE  SLAVE- DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  227 

The  state's  attorney  refrained  from  cross-examination. 
Mrs.  Livingston  whispered  to  Lizzie  that  she  would  leave 
the  court  with  her  ;  but  the  latter  pointed  to  her  father, 
and  shook  her  head. 

The  charge  of  Judge  Stanley  to  the  jury  instructed 
them  in  the  distinctions  between  deliberate  murder,  man- 
slaughter, and  justifiable  homicide.  To  the  last  he  gave 
a  latitude  unknown  to  the  jurisprudence  of  most  other 
communities.  He  referred  to  a  decision  then  recent,  by 
which  a  man  who  shot  down  another  in  the  street  had 
been  held  guiltless,  because  the  person  he  killed  was 
known  to  have  threatened  his  life.  He  spoke  also  of  ihe 
charge  given  by  an  eminent  western  judge,  holding  that 
for  deeds  committed  by  a  mob,  no  individual  can  be  held 
accountable.  The  former  of  these  decisions,  he  said, 
might  lead  the  jury  to  consider  how  far,  if  the  death  of 
Smith  was  intended,  the  previous  quarrel,  and  the  riot  in 
which  he  was  engaged,  would  extenuate  the  offence. 
But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  the  fatal  shot  was  intended  for 
Bryant,  the  jury  might  find  reason  for  a  favorable  judg- 
ment on  either  of  the  two  grounds,  should  the  evidence 
appear  sufficient  to  sanction  them — that  the  deed  was  the 
act  of  sudden  passion  from  domestic  provocation,  or  that 
the  prisoner  joined  in  the  feeling  of  the  crowd.  The 
citizens,  he  said,  from  a  patriotic  impulse,  though  in  a 
disorderly  manner,  were  pursuing  a  person  thought  to 
be  an  incendiary.  "  I  do  not  myself  believe,"  said  he, 
"  that  this  suspicion  was  correct :  the  deportment  of  the 


228  HONOR',    OR, 

witness,  Mr.  Bryant,  and  the  very  fact  of  his  appearing 
again  among  us  with  such  modest  fearlessness,  vindicate 
him  against  the  charge.  Nor  do  I  approve  of  lawless 
gatherings  to  punish  supposed  crime.  But  while  our 
institutions  remain  as  they  are,  —  and  who  among  us 
would  wish  them  changed  ?  —  any  rumor  of  interference 
from  abroad  will  infallibly  produce  such  gatherings. 
And  when  a  crowd  are  assembled,  and  are  seeking,  with 
feelings  we  cannot  entirely  condemn,  the  punishment  of 
one  whom  they  consider  guilty,  the  act  of  any  one  per- 
son in  firing  upon  him  must  be  considered  as  the  act  of 
the  whole  assembly  ;  to  be  regretted,  indeed,  and  blamed, 
but  not  to  be  visited  with  punishment.  There  were 
hundreds  of  persons  assembled  on  that  night,  seeking  the 
life  of  Mr.  Bryant.  In  the  eye  of  the  law,  all  were 
equally  guilty.  It  is  not  right  to  punish  one  for  the  crime 

of  hundreds.      The   decision,  then,  of  Judge  L is 

applicable  to  this  case  ;  and  the  shot,  if  fired  in  the  pur- 
suit of  a  supposed  abolitionist,  must  be  considered  as  the 
act,  not  of  the  individual,  but  of  the  assembled  multitude. 
"  But,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  crime  must  be  punished, 
and  the  dignity  of  the  law  maintained.  If  you  believe, 
therefore,  that  the  prisoner  fired  that  shot  with  deliberate 
malice  against  either  Smith  or  Bryant,  —  that  is,  from 
any  motive  except  recent  provocation  or  patriotic  impulse, 
—  then  it  was  murder,  and  you  must  find  him  guilty.  I 
must  remind  you,  however,  that  if  there  is  any  doubt  in 
your  minds,  the  prisoner  is  entitled  to  its  benefit.  With 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S    DAUGHTER.  229 

this,    gentlemen,  I  leave  you  to  the    discharge  of  your 
great  and  responsible  office." 

The  jury,  without  retiring  from  the  room,  rendered  a 
verdict  of  "  Not  Guilty." 
20 


230  HONOR',    OR 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

THE    CONCLUSION. 

announcement,  which  gave  safety  to  the  ac- 
cused,  was  received  by  the  crowd  with  a  shout 
of  applause.  Compassion  for  the  danger  in 
which  he  was  placed,  admiration  of  his  daughter's 
beauty  and  modesty,  and  respect  for  the  courage  of  the 
young  man  who  had  ventured  into  the  scene  of  his  former 
danger  to  bear  testimony  in  favor  of  one  who  had  sought 
his  life,  —  these  mingled  feelings  influenced  the  better 
portion  of  the  crowd.  But  there  were  others  who  could 
see  in  the  result  nothing  but  the  escape  of  one  abolition 
incendiary  by  the  false  oath  of  another.  As  the  applause 
subsided,  some  of  these  gave  vent  to  their  anger  in  hisses  ; 
but  the  voice  of  the  crier  restored  silence,  the  prisoner 
was  pronounced  acquitted,  and  the  court  dismissed.  In 
a  few  moments,  the  spectators  were  crowding  the  passage 
from  the  hall,  or  standing  before  the  court-house  ;  some 
with  congratulations  to  each  other  on  the  result  of  the 
trial ;  others  with  loud  declarations,  interlarded  with 
many  an  oath,  against  the  prisoner  and  the  unexpected 
witness,  whose  testimony  had  been  so  important. 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  231 

Within  the  court-house,  deeper  feelings  found  a  more 
quiet  expression.  Witham  himself,  at  the  moment  of 
hearing  the  verdict,  had  sunk  down,  covering  his  face  with 
his  hands.  The  work  of  repentance,  begun  within  him 
by  his  own  horror  at  the  unexpected  issue  of  his  deed, 
and  continued  by  the  exhortations  of  the  faithful  Meth- 
odist minister,  was  now  completed  by  the  providential 
mercy  that  had  rescued  him  from  a  felon's  death.  Thank- 
ful as  he  was,  contrition  was  his  deepest  emotion.  He 
felt  himself  to  be  a  murderer  in  intention  and  in  act, 
though  the  object  of  the  intention  and  the  victim  of  the 
act  were  different ;  and  fresh  from  the  acquittal  of  a 
human  court,  he  breathed  an  earnest  prayer  for  forgive- 
ness before  the  bar  of  Heaven. 

Lizzie  had  sunk  fainting.  She  had  nerved  herself  to 
bear  sorrow,  but  was  unprepared  for  joy.  Her  foster- 
mother  bent  over  her,  and  called  her  by  every  endearing 
name  ;  Bryant,  assisted  by  his  friend  Stevens,  had  borne 
her  near  an  open  window,  and  laid  her  upon  benches  ;  he 
knelt  by  her  side  and  chafed  her  hands,  while  Mrs.  Liv- 
ingston threw  water  upon  her  face.  She  opened  her  eyes 
at  length,  and  looked  around  in  a  bewildered  manner. 
Her  father  had  joined  the  circle,  and  was  bending  over 
her.  She  looked  up  at  him,  and  as  she  saw  tears  on  his 
rugged  cheeks,  her  own  eyes  filled  ;  she  folded  her  hands, 
and  said  faintly,  "  Thank  God,  my  father  is  acquitted  !  " 

"  Acquitted !  Yes,  by  man's  court,  but  not  by  God's  ! 
I  meant  to  commit  murder  —  to  murder  you,  Mr.  Bryant ; 


232  HONOR',    OR, 

you,  so  generous  —  Can  you  forgive  me?  If  you  can, 
perhaps  God  will  forgive  me  too." 

"  I  forgive  you,  Mr.  Witham,  with  all  my  heart ; " 
and  the  young  man  took  the  hand  of  the  penitent  in  a 
cordial  grasp.  The  Livingstons,  and  others  who  were 
around,  followed  his  example. 

"  Now,"  said  Mr.  Livingston,  "  let  us  leave  this  place. 
Mr.  Witham,  we  must  have  Lizzie  for  a  while  with  us." 

Lizzie  was  resting  on  Mrs.  Livingston's  breast,  as  she 
had  done  when  a  child ;  but  at  this  she  tried  to  rise,  say- 
ing, "  Thank  you  ;  but  I  must  go  back  to  my  poor  sick 
mother." 

"  Not  now,  Betsy,"  said  Witham,  in  a  more  tender 
voice  than  she  had  ever  heard  from  him.  "  Mother  and 
I  will  both  spare  you  now  for  a  while.  Go  with  your 
kind  friends ;  but  let  us  see  you  before  night,  that  we 
may  all  thank  God  together." 

Edward  Elmsley  now  came  forward,  with  a  look  of 
deeper  concern  than  his  words  implied,  for  they  were  only 
an  invitation  to  Mr.  Bryant  to  dine  at  his  father's,  who 
resided  a  short  distance  from  the  town.  Colonel  Henley 
seconded  the  suggestion. 

"  You  had  better,"  said  he,  "be  as  much  out  of  view 
as  possible,  not  only  for  your  own  safety,  but  for  the  com- 
fort of  us  all.  Every  right-feeling  person  approves  your 
course ;  but  all  are  not  right-feeling  in  our  part  of  the 
world,  and  I  suppose  not  in  any  other." 

Bryant  hesitated,  but  Lizzie,  too,  pressed  his  going, 


THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S    DAUGHTER.  233 

and  with  rather  an  ill  grace,  he  accepted  the  proffered 
hospitality. 

There  were  many  persons  standing  around  the  court- 
house door  when  the  two  came  out.  Elmsley's  servant 
was  holding  the  reins  of  a  spirited  horse,  attached  to  a 
handsome  specimen  of  those  four-wheeled  vehicles  which, 
under  the  name  of  buggy,  have  nearly  supplanted  the 
old-fashioned  chaise. 

"  Robert,"  said  Elmsley,  speaking  louder  than  seemed 
necessary,  "  tell  my  uncle  Burgess  that  I  shall  not  be  in 
to-day,  as  I  said,  because  I  have  Mr.  Bryant's  company 
to  dinner.  You  understand  ?  I  have  Mr.  Bryant's  com- 
pany to  dinner." 

He  took  the  reins,  and  seated  Bryant  and  himself. 
The  young  men  both  sat  silent  till  they  had  turned  into 
another  street,  when  Elmsley  exclaimed,  — 

"  Now,  Mr.  Bryant,  you  think  you  are  going  to  dine 
with  me  at  my  father's,  a  mile  out  of  town ;  but  you  are 
mistaken.  We  are  to  dine  at  Petersville,  twenty  miles 
off;  that  is,  if  we  have  a  chance  to  dine  at  all." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Bryant,  starting.  "I 
am  not  ready  to  leave  the  place  so  soon." 

"  You  don't  want  to  make  your  exit  from  the  end  of  a 
rope,  I  suppose?  Nor  even  riding  on  a  rail  with  a  coat 
of  tar  and  cotton  ?  Ah,  I  have  had  a  wish  to  see  some- 
body tarred  and  cottoned,  for  the  downy  beauty  of  the 
thing." 

"  But,  Mr.  Elmsley,"  said  Bryant,  earnestly,  "  I  can- 
20* 


234  HONOR;    OX, 

not  leave  these  friends  without  warning,  and  on  a  mere 
fancy  of  danger,  without  dishonor.  If  there  is  real 
danger,  they  are  exposed  to  it,  and " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Elmsley.  "  Nobody  would  harm 
that  old  gentleman  and  lady,  nor  that  young  lady  either, 
whom,  I  fancy,  you  are  more  anxious  about.  But  listen. 
I  know  there  is  a  plan  to  waylay  you  this  evening,  and 
punish  you  by  Lynch  law,  on  the  old  charge  of  abolition- 
ism. I  know  it  from  the  best  of  all  reasons,  because  I 
was  asked  to  join  in  it,  by  one  that  was  not  aware  exactly 
how  I  stood  towards  you.  Now,  if  you  like  the  afore- 
said tar  and  cotton,  or  riding  on  a  rail,  or  forty  stripes 
save  one,  or  any  other  pleasant  experience  of  that  kind, 
I'll  keep  on  to  father's,  and  make  old  Dinah  get  us  some 
dinner.  She  is  the  only  person  there  to  do  the  honors  ; 
for  father,  and  mother,  and  William,  and  Mouse,  are 
all  dining  at  my  uncle  Burgess's.  4  Mouse '  is  used,  for 
shortness,  for  my  sister  Georgiana." 

"  But  to  desert  my  friends  ! "  said  Bryant. 

"  O,  we'll  take  care  of  your  friends.  Much  comfort  it 
would  be  to  them  to  have  you  caught." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Bryant,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
—  not  in  their  motion,  however,  for  the  horse  went  like 
the  wind.  "  You  are  right ;  and  I  thank  you  with  all 
my  heart ;  but  it  is  hard,  it  is  galling,  to  be  forced  a 
second  time  to  fly  on  this  false  and  scandalous  charge, 
and  that  at  a  moment  when " 

"  Yes,   when  all  seemed  bright,"  said  Elmsley ;  "  I 


THE   SLAVE-DEALER'S  DAUGHTER.  235 

understand  you  ; "  and  there  was  a  tone  of  sympathy  in 
his  voice  that  corresponded  with  his  words.  "  But,"  he 
added,  "  you  need  not  leave  the  state.  Only  remain 
away  for  a  week  or  two  ;  and  you  can  either  come  back 
to  Johnsonville,  or  arrange  with  your  friends  where  else 
to  meet  them." 

A  ride  of  two  hours,  with  Elmsley's  noble  horse, 
brought  them  to  Peter sville,  where,  after  a  hasty  meal, 
they  parted,  Bryant  taking  the  stage  to  Royalton,  and 
Elmsley  returning  to  Johnsonville.  The  lover,  however, 
had  found  time  to  write  a  few  lines  to  Mr.  Livingston, 
excusing  his  desertion,  and  another  letter,  which  renewed 
the  offer  of  his  hand  and  fortune  to  the  daughter  of  John 
Witham. 

"  Say  that  you  will  be  mine,"  he  wrote,  "  and  no 
danger,  real  or  imagined,  shall  keep  me  from  retracing 
the  way  to  where  I  may  claim  you.  If  you  still  say  no, 
it  must  be  because  it  is  right ;  and  Heaven  bless  you ; 
but  it  will  be  best  for  me  not  to  see  you  again.  Only,  if 
any  evil  ever  threatens  you  or  yours,  send  but  the  slight- 
est token,  and  you  will  see  again  before  you  your  devoted 
friend,  F.  W.  B." 

Lizzie  did  not  recall  him  to  Johnsonville ;  for  young 
Elmsley's  information  had  been  correct,  as  the  occur- 
rences of  that  evening  proved.  A  number  of  men  had  left 
the  hotel,  where  they  had  made  no  secret  of  their  inten- 
tion to  try  the  abolitionist  by  Lynch  law.  They  lingered 


236  HONOR;  OH, 

around  Rosemount  —  General  Elmsley's  house  —  till  to- 
wards evening,  when,  instead  of  seeing  any  one  issue 
from  the  gates,  they  saw  the  general's  carriage  approach- 
ing from  the  village.  An  explanation  followed,  and  the 
plotters  slunk  away  ashamed.  The  skill  with  which 
young  Elmsley  had  baffled  them,  with  the  open  approval 
of  Bryant's  course  by  the  best  men  in  the  community, 
kept  them  quiet  afterwards.  Yet  Lizzie  and  her  friends 
thought  it  best  not  to  expose  her  lover  to  a  renewal  of 
his  danger. 

But  every  other  obstacle  to  their  union  was  now  re- 
moved. Her  father  had  lost  that  ill-won  property  which 
Bryant  had  refused  to  touch ;  and  he  had  gained  that 
change  of  character  which  enabled  him  to  begin  life 
again,  if  in  some  humble  occupation,  yet  in  one  which 
should  not  be  felt  as  disgraceful  by  rightly-judging  minds. 
His  wife  appeared  so  far  improved  in  health  by  the  issue 
of  her  husband's  trial,  that  she  combated  the  scruples  on 
her  account  which  Lizzie  alleged.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Liv- 
ingston, though  suppressing  any  urgent  claim  for  their 
own  pleasure,  showed  in  all  their  demeanor  how  ear- 
nestly they  desired  to  have  again  the  company  of  their 
adopted  daughter.  Witham,  though  he  had  but  recently 
found  that  union  of  true  parental  and  filial  feeling  which 
1  could  not  exist  while  he  was  estranged  from  virtue,  yet 
felt  anxious  to  make  up  to  his  daughter  for  her  past  self- 
sacrifice.  The  advancing  season  seemed  unpropitious 
for  a  journey  north  ;  but  this  objection  was  removed  by 


THE   SLAVE -DEALER'S   DAUGHTER.  237 

Mr.  Livingston's  proposing  that  himself  and  wife,  with 
the  young  couple,  should  spend  the  winter  in  visiting 
other  points  of  interest  in  the  Southern  States,  and  in 
the  West  India  Islands. 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  a  pleasant  day  in  the  early 
part  of  the  mild  southern  winter,  when  the  carriages  of 
a  bridal  party  stood  before  the  door  of  Mr.  Stevens's 
church,  in  Royalton.  It  was  a  humble  building,  but 
there  was  grace  in  its  humility,  as  it  stood  among  its 
trees,  looking  forth  on  the  wide  street  that  took  its  name 
from  Greene,  the  friend  of  Washington,  but  which  every 
visitor  thought  had  been  thus  called  from  the  verdure 
which,  even  at  that  season,  held  disputed  possession 
with  its  trodden  paths.  From  the  first  carriage  descend- 
ed the  bridegroom  and  his  friend,  the  minister ;  from  the 
second,  the  bride,  her  father,  and  her  adopted  parents. 
Edward  Elmsley  followed,  with  Anna  Stevens,  sister 
of  the  clergyman,  in  the  character  of  groomsman  and 
bridesmaid.  There  were  none  besides  ;  but  the  awe  of  a 
holy  presence  filled  the  house  of  prayer ;  jmd  as  the 
lovers  spoke  in  subdued  tones  their  mutual  vows,  all  felt 
that  they  who  had  been  true  to  duty  when  it  forbade 
their  union,  would  be  faithful  through  life,  where  love . 
and  duty  now  combined  to  mark  and  to  bless  their 
course. 

One  marriage  leads  to  another  ;  and  this  young  Elms- 
ley  found,  from  his  casual  association  at  that  time  with 
Anna  Stevens.  A  warm  friendship  continued  to  unite 


238  THE    SLAVE-DEALER'S   DAUGHTER. 

them  with  those  whose  history  had  thus  influenced  their 
own.  Another  generation  has  now  arisen  ;  and  for  them 
the  tree  of  slavery  has  borne  the  bitter  fruit  of  civil  strife. 
When  the  State  of  Georgia,  influenced  in  part  by  feelings 
oF*mistaken  honor,  followed  the  rash  leading  of  South 
Carolina,  Frederick  Bryant  Elmsley  entered  the  Con- 
federate army,  and  is  now  —  in  1864 — a  captain  in  the 
Johnsonville  Dragoons ;  while  Edward  Elmsley  Bryant 

is  major  of  the  th  Massachusetts  Regiment.     But 

the  mothers  of  the  young  men,  while  engaged  in  works 
of  charity  for  the  poor,  the  sick,  and  the  wounded  of 
their  respective  sections,  send  thoughts  of  love  beyond 
the  lines  of  war.  Mrs.  Bryant  thinks  with  pity  of  the 
sufferings  of  those  among  whom  she  once  experienced 
generous  protection ;  and  Mrs.  Elmsley  does  not  forget 
her  birthplace,  and  the  home  of  her  early  years.  Such 
memories  are  among  the  means  that  will  establish  a 
better  harmony  than  ever  in  our  land,  when  the  great 
rebellion,  and  the  barbarous  system  from  which  if 
sprung,  shall  alike  have  passed  away. 


HOME   LIFE: 


WHAT  IT  IS,  AND  WHAT  IT  NEEDS. 


BY 

JOHN    F.  W.  WARE. 


BOSTON: 
WM.    V.     SPENCHR. 

134  WASHINGTON  STREET. 
1864. 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


